Merry Is For The Dead
593 Words
The Scuro family made their move at dawn.
Luca had just returned from a covert meeting with a corrupt senator when the first explosion ripped through the southern compound. Ivy was in the shower when the second bomb shattered the guesthouse windows.
By the time she reached the balcony, smoke painted the horizon, and Luca’s men were scrambling to assemble a counter-response. She didn't wait for orders.
She grabbed a gun.
The war had officially gone loud.
Within the hour, five of Luca’s men were dead. Two were missing. And the Scuros had made it clear—they weren’t interested in negotiations. This was an extermination campaign.
Luca stood at the head of the war table, eyes bloodshot but sharp. Ivy sat beside him, bruised but composed. On the board, photos of Scuro lieutenants were marked with red Xs—targets to be eliminated before nightfall.
“This ends tonight,” Luca said. “We find Armando Scuro. We put him in the ground.”
Ivy nodded, voice calm. “And what about the council? They won’t back us without evidence the Scuros violated neutrality.”
Luca turned to her. “We’re not asking for their approval. We’re giving them a new ruler.”
She understood now—this wasn’t just about vengeance. It was about legacy. The De Rossis wouldn’t just survive. They’d conquer.
The plan was clean. Ruthless. Ivy and Luca would lead separate squads. She would hit the Scuros’ communications hub outside of Siena, where their encrypted messages and payment trails were managed. Luca would storm the estate—draw Armando out. Kill him. Burn what remained.
As night fell, Ivy kissed Luca once. Not for luck. For loyalty.
“If I die,” she said, “don’t avenge me. Win.”
His hand cradled her jaw. “You don’t die before me, Ivy. That’s the rule.”
They parted like soldiers. Like monarchs.
Ivy’s team infiltrated the communications base by midnight. It was quieter than expected—too quiet. And that’s when she knew.
“It’s a trap,” she hissed.
Gunfire erupted from the shadows.
Two of her men fell. Ivy ducked behind a server bank, heart hammering. The Scuros were waiting. They’d predicted the move. But Ivy hadn’t come unprepared either.
She activated a small device strapped to her wrist—a signal jammer. Suddenly, the Scuros’ radios fizzled into static. In the confusion, Ivy moved fast, silent, and precise.
She shot two in the back. One in the throat. When the room finally quieted, she stood alone among the dead, bleeding from a graze across her side.
“I’m done playing nice,” she growled.
Back in Florence, Luca was facing hell. The Scuro estate had been fortified. Every exit was a kill zone, every corridor laced with death. But Luca was a force of nature—surgical, brutal, merciless.
He found Armando in the wine cellar, surrounded by dead guards.
“You took my brother,” Armando spat. “My city.”
“You tried to take my wife,” Luca said. “Now I take your legacy.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
Two shots. One between the eyes. One in the chest.
It was over.
By morning, the De Rossi crest flew over the Scuro gates. Ivy returned bloodied but unbroken. When she found Luca standing amidst the rubble, she walked to him without a word.
He pulled her into his arms, forehead resting against hers.
“It’s done,” he said.
“No,” Ivy whispered. “Now it begins.”
- Writer
