House of Wolves
828 Words
The forest was deathly quiet as Matteo crouched beneath a curtain of mist, one hand gripping the pistol tucked against his ribs. Pine needles crunched beneath his boots. The morning fog hadn’t lifted yet, and the cold air sharpened the edges of every breath.
They were close.
Lena knelt beside him, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of a knife strapped to her thigh. Her eyes flicked across the ridge ahead, where the Ricci estate’s private cabin stood—isolated, fortified, and nestled between cliffs like a sleeping predator.
“This is where Alessandro ran to,” Matteo whispered.
Lena nodded. “Looks like he brought his pet wolves with him.”
Through binoculars, they counted at least ten guards patrolling the perimeter. Each one was armed with military-grade rifles and wore body armor. There were snipers on the roof and surveillance drones circling overhead.
Matteo lowered the scope. “He’s not hiding. He’s baiting us.”
Lena’s jaw tightened. “Then let’s not disappoint him.”
---
Inside the cabin, Alessandro Ricci stood by the fireplace, staring at a photograph of his family—Matteo, their father, and himself. He traced a finger down the glass.
“He always loved you more,” he said to no one. “But I was the one who stayed.”
A man stepped into the room—Carlo, his right-hand enforcer.
“They’re here.”
Alessandro smiled. “Let them come.”
---
The assault began at sunrise.
Matteo and Lena moved like shadows, neutralizing guards silently as they advanced through the trees. Every step was calculated. Every breath counted.
Matteo signaled. Lena dropped low, slid a blade into the hamstring of a guard and pulled him into the underbrush before he could scream.
Four down.
Six left.
A sniper on the roof spotted movement and shouted. Gunfire exploded across the clearing.
“Go!” Matteo shouted, pushing Lena toward the wall of the compound.
She sprinted, rolled behind a boulder, and returned fire with pinpoint precision. Two guards fell.
Matteo scaled a tree, leapt onto the roof, and tackled the sniper. They grappled. A punch. A broken nose. A final shot.
Five seconds of silence.
Then a voice echoed from a speaker above the cabin door:
“Little brother,” Alessandro called. “You made it.”
Matteo growled. “Come out and face me.”
“Why ruin the surprise?”
The doors opened slowly.
Inside, torches flickered along the stone walls. Candles dripped wax onto the floor. It was like stepping into a shrine—one devoted to blood and betrayal.
Alessandro stood at the far end, holding a glass of red wine. Behind him, monitors displayed live footage of Matteo and Lena’s every move.
“I know you better than you know yourself,” Alessandro said. “That’s why you’ll lose.”
“You’re wrong,” Matteo replied. “I already lost everything. There’s nothing left to take.”
Alessandro’s gaze flicked to Lena. “That’s not true.”
Lena raised her gun. “Try me.”
---
Gunfire erupted.
Matteo tackled Alessandro, and they crashed through the glass table. Lena exchanged shots with Carlo, her bullets ripping into furniture and stone.
Matteo and Alessandro wrestled, blood and sweat staining their shirts. Years of resentment came alive in fists and fury.
“I was the son he deserved!” Alessandro roared.
“You were the son he destroyed!” Matteo shouted back.
Alessandro reached for his knife.
Lena turned just in time.
“Matteo!” she screamed.
Matteo ducked. Alessandro’s blade sliced his shoulder instead of his throat.
Matteo retaliated with a headbutt. Alessandro staggered. Matteo grabbed the knife and plunged it into his brother’s chest.
Silence.
Then Alessandro gasped, blood on his lips. “Tell father… I won.”
Matteo whispered, “No one wins this.”
Alessandro collapsed.
---
Outside, the remaining guards surrendered.
Lena and Matteo stepped out, covered in blood, but alive. The drone above hovered briefly before shutting down.
A war had ended.
But the cost had only just begun.
---
That night, they returned to the safehouse.
Lena stood in the shower for almost an hour. She scrubbed until her skin turned raw. But it wasn’t the blood she was trying to wash off.
It was the guilt.
Matteo sat on the bed, silent, bandaging his arm.
When she emerged in his oversized shirt, he looked up.
“We won,” she said.
“No,” he replied. “We survived.”
Lena walked to him and sat in his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck.
“What now?” she asked.
Matteo’s voice was quiet. “Now we take what’s left… and build something worth bleeding for.”
She pressed her forehead to his.
“You’re still bleeding,” she whispered.
“So are you.”
They kissed—not because it solved anything. But because it reminded them they were still alive.
Still fighting.
Still worth saving.
- Writer
