Blinded By The Kindled Fire (Ongoing)

𝖉𝖔𝖉𝖎𝖈𝖎

𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐀

The room grew colder as we worked through the night, maps spread out before us and phones lighting up with incoming reports. Every lead, every whisper of information—none of it was too small. My mind kept drifting back to my children, and the fury it ignited was enough to keep me sharp, focused.

It was just after midnight when Dante's phone buzzed with a new message. He glanced at it, his face hardening.

"Marcello's regained consciousness." He said, his eyes flicking to me, "Sta chiedendo di te." He's asking for you.

I didn't waste a second. The ride to the hospital was heavy, silence pressing down like a storm about to break. Stefano hadn't left my side since we got back, his presence a steady quiet anchor. But now, his hand rested on the grip of his gun, his expression carved in the same grim resolve that settled over me.

At the hospital, the dim hallway lights cast a cold, sterile glow over everything. 

No one here worried with the number of armed men I had walking behind me. The staff carried the ease of people long accustomed to our presence. The nurses greeted us with quiet familiarity, the doctors with the kind of respect that didn't need words. This place had always been ours, long before I ever took my place at the head of the table

Loyalty ran deep here, carved into bloodlines and sealed in silence.

Marcello lay in the bed, wrapped in bandages and bruises, an IV snaking into his arm. His eyes fluttered open as I entered, and for a heartbeat, a flicker of relief cut through the pain clouding his gaze.

"Capo..." He whispered, trying to sit up.

"Stay where you are." I said, my voice softer than I intended, "Tell me what happened."

Marcello took a shaky breath, "It was... it was an ambush. Hanno bloccato la strada, ci hanno costretto a fermarci. C'erano almeno una dozzina di uomini, tutti addestrati. We tried to hold them off, but they were after the twins. Erano... professionisti." They blocked the road, forced us to stop. There were at least a dozen men, all trained. They were... professionals.

"Russians?" I asked, my tone steely.

He nodded slowly, the pain evident in his eyes, "Ne ho intravisto uno mentre se ne andavano. He wore a pin with the insignia... of the Bratva." I caught a glimpse of one of them as they left.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. The Bratva—the Russian mafia.

"Did you see any sign of Aleksei?" I asked, watching his face closely, "Was he there?"

Did he finally find out about the twins? Was this his idea of revenge for the secret I kept from him? He couldn't have just talked to me like a decent person? 

Who the hell am I kidding, he's the pakhan of the Russian mafia. Decent isn't in his vocabulary. Of course he'd start a war before having a goddamn conversation.

"No... but they mentioned his name." Marcello said, his voice growing weaker, "Hanno detto che avevano degli ordini." They said they had orders.

My jaw tightened. Orders from Aleksei himself? Or was he, too, being played by those around him? Either way, I knew what had to be done.

"Rest, Marcello." I said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Ce ne occuperemo noi. Hai fatto bene." We'll handle this. You did well.

As I stepped back into the hallway, Stefano was waiting, his face shadowed with fury, "This confirms it, then?"