Shadows Of The Vow

Chapter Six Taking Care Of Business From Inside

Antonioni's POV

I had gone back to finish up business with my right-hand men.

I couldn't sleep if business was unfinished.

The time was 1:13 am.

The war room smelled like metal, and expensive cologne.

It's a private level beneath the house. No windows. Triple-locked with retina and voice scan access. Floor made of tempered steel. Ceilings are lined with Faraday shielding.

We weren’t in a war room, literally.

But it sure felt like one.

I leaned against the polished desk, arms crossed, watching the team file in.

Diego took his usual place, stone-faced as always.

Milo followed, flipping through his notepad like a nervous professor.

Bukky came behind them, clean shaves, tailored black polo covering his chubby body.

Men I trusted.

Men who owe me everything.

“All right,” I said, voice calm but firm. “Let’s start with the follow-ups.”

Diego cleared his throat. “Entry points were secured with more men and more gadgets. We sealed off the east gate like you said, added biometric locks to all external chambers. No rats are crawling in through those holes again.”

“Perimeter patrols?” I asked.

He nodded. “Quad shifts now. Each team reports every four hours, round the clock, to Señor Cruz. We added randomized sweeps too. No pattern to predict.”

“Good. Milo?”

He looked up, pushing his anti-ray glasses up from his nose.

“Security around the vaults has doubled. Drones are responding within three seconds of unauthorized motion. We also tweaked the sensor placement. You were right, they were too predictable before.”

“Excellent. What we're doing is cementing the holes where the rats passed through before.” I said. “And the deliveries?” I asked, turning to Bukky.

He smirked. “Seamless. The buyer in Serbia sent confirmation: “Your tech moves like thunder but hits like silence.” That was his exact phrase.”

Milo and Diego chuckled.

“We need more loyal transporters. It's sad that, these days, it's becoming increasingly difficult to find loyal folks.” I said.

They all nodded in agreement.

“And the Moroccan politician?” I asked again, facing Bukky again.

Bukky is charged with mostly administrative duties. He oversees everything and makes sure everything is working fine.

So far, he's proven to be the best at it.

“Payment confirmed. Plus a bonus. He wants exclusivity on the guided launchers.”

“Tell him to double the bonus if he wants first rights,” I said smoothly. “And give him the illusion of loyalty, but not the whole stash.”

He nodded. They all nodded.

My phone buzzed.

It was a missed call from Fierro’s burner line.

A second later, a message followed…

Where are my goods, Antonioni?

My chest tightened.

I turned the screen for all of them to see.

“León Fierro’s raking,” I muttered. “He says he wants his shipment within forty-eight hours or he’s burning us to the ground.”

Silence struck the room like thunder. No one spoke.

Because we all feared him.

León Fierro wasn’t just a client. He was the kind of man who took kindness as weakness and silence as disrespect. The kind of man who once cut off a man's tongue for being five minutes late. The kind of man who never threatened twice.

“He’s the only man I fear,” I said. “If we lose that shipment, we won’t live to explain ourselves.”

Diego cleared his throat. “Which shipment was his?”

“Batch Epsilon. The railgun cartridges, the flame suppressors, and the capsule detonators. Worth over two hundred million euros.” Bukky replied to him.

“f**k…” Diego murmured.

Bukky swallowed hard and continued. “That was routed through Dock Twelve two nights ago. The same night Lorenzo’s scouts were sniffing around.”

My eyes narrowed. “You think Lorenzo got bold enough to take Fierro’s goods?”

“It’s not impossible,” Diego said. “He’s been stepping over lines lately. And we already experienced him hijack our last shipment. He’s that arrogant.”

Milo nodded slowly. “If he took it, boss, he has no idea what he just stepped into. Fierro won’t just burn us. He’ll torch every friend, every supplier, and every opponent even we’ve ever had.”

I clenched my fists.

“We plan an operation,” I said. “We hit Lorenzo’s villa. Tomorrow. 3:00 a.m. sharp. We go in clean, fast, and leave no noise. If we find the shipment, we bring it back. If we don’t…”

“If we don’t,” Diego cut in, “we better have a good story to tell Fierro.”

“No,” I replied. “If we don’t, we don’t talk. We die. That’s what dealing with León Fierro means. And none of you are ready to die for a mistake we didn’t make.”

Bukky sighed. “So we assume Lorenzo has it.”

“Correct,” I snapped. “Until proven otherwise. That’s our working theory.”

Milo rubbed his temple. “What if it wasn’t him?”

“Then someone else is trying to put my head on Fierro’s spike,” I said coldly. “And I’ll find them next.”

I looked at Diego. “Prep your teams. We storm his place and take what’s ours. If Fierro doesn’t get those weapons in two days, we won’t live long enough to tell who really stole them.”

They nodded again, this time slower, grimmer.

This wasn’t about Lorenzo anymore.

This was about staying alive.

My hands rested lightly on the desk. “Any chatter from Lorenzo’s end?”

“Nothing solid,” Diego said. “But we think he’s sniffing the Istanbul trail where the pillows of nicots are coming in from. He’s got our guy Luca on the border feeding him surdusts as usual.”

We all laughed.

“We’ll handle that,” I said simply. “Tell Luca to tweak the trail. Let Loren follow the wrong flame.”

Luca is my silent human weapon against Lorenzo.

I remember how it all started…

****

Switzerland, Two Years Ago. Prison Cell D9.

The cell reeked of sweat, rust, and regret. And yet, even behind the bars, Luca Marenko sat like a man who still ran the black market with a telephone wire in his mind.

He barely looked up when I was brought in.

“Antonioni,” He said, dragging my name through his thick throat like smoke. “Didn’t think you'd show up. Thought you mafia types preferred to let people rot for information.”

“I’m not here for information,” I replied, tossing the manila file on the bench beside him. “That’s your bail. You walk free in twelve hours.”

Luca blinked slowly. “Why?”

“Because your kids don’t need a ghost for a father,” I said simply. “And your wife doesn’t need to keep waiting tables in Bern just to afford your lawyer. I took care of that.”

Silence stretched like a wire between us.

He leaned forward slowly. “You’re not doing this for free.”

“No,” I said. “But I don’t want your money. I want your loyalty.

Relocate to Istanbul. Keep the weapons business running. But only when I say so, and only to those I approve of.”

He studied me for a long moment. Then nodded once. “Done.”

From that day, he was mine.

And I made sure he never had to look back at those prison bars again.

The room exhaled like a single lung.

Milo looked up again. “Also, boss, about the shipment you rerouted from Prague. We tested the prototypes. Those modified railguns? Pure genius. Whoever helped you design that circuit board deserves a drink.”

“They’re dead,” I replied, growling.

Milo went quiet.

But I wasn’t done remembering.

****

Three Months Ago – Istanbul, Dockside Bar

My phone buzzed once.

It was Luca.

“Boss, there’s a guy here. Name’s Lorenzo Ricco. From Naples. Says he wants your custom railgun design. The exact one you tailored for Munich.”

I frowned. That design wasn't shared with anyone, except my inner circle.

Who on earth is giving me out to Lorenzo?

“He came with intel. Full specs. The model. Even the safety trigger code. I asked where he got it. He said it was a gift.”

A cold understanding slithered down my spine.

“Someone has betrayed me,” I muttered under my breath.

I replied, “Don’t give him anything.”

“Already told him it was unavailable. But I’ll feed him some hope. Make him think I’m on his side.”

“Good,” I said. “From now on, you’re his friend. You tell him you hate me. That you’re ready to switch allegiances. Meanwhile, I want to know every move he makes. Every breath. Every whisper.”

Luca chuckled on the other end. “Understood. I’ll be his mirror.”

****

And just like that, Luca became my shadow in Istanbul, watching Lorenzo. He pretends to hunt me down, while feeding me his every step.

Let him keep thinking he’s got an ally.

Let him chase the wrong flame.

I lit it for him.

And when it burns out, I’ll be standing there in the ashes.

I turned to my men.

“Let’s not forget what kind of business we’re in,” I added coldly. “We don’t just serve kings and rich generals. We serve demand. That means shadows. That means blood. That means black.”

No one argued.

They knew.

They always knew.

“Weapons and drugs are like religion to the desperate,” I continued. “As long as people need miracles, they’ll come knocking. And I don’t deny anyone a miracle, so long as they pay first.”

Milo muttered, “Amen.”

The tension cracked just slightly.

I let my gaze sweep over them all one more time.

“I’m proud,” I said. “You’ve all executed with precision. But don’t grow soft. If Lorenzo thinks we’ve peaked, he’s mistaken.”

I walked toward the window and glanced down at the dome from where we stood. It looked calm, spotless, and deceiving.

“Let him come,” I whispered. “The only thing he’ll find here is a burial.”

In an instant, a w******p message flashed across my screen:

Which of them do you need, boss?

Renjas.

He's one of my suppliers for sniffers in Asia.

I typed: Cap,Ya ba, Ket, Fent & MDMA. Can you deliver them all? Our clients are asking.

Okay boss. Sure, I can. (His)

Good man. (Mine)

As long as business was coming in and going well, I didn't care much about Lorenzo and his pained ass. He's a little fly where I am.

He can kiss my ass for all I care about!