Chapter Three: A Lesson in Betrayal

 

The warehouse smelled of damp metal, motor oil, and something darker—fear. The kind that clung to the air, thick and suffocating, crawling under the skin of the men who stood waiting. A single bulb flickered above, casting long, restless shadows on the cold concrete floor.

Adrian Moretti stood at the center of it all, silent as a grave.

The air around him was still, heavy, and dangerous. His presence alone was enough to silence a room. His dark eyes, sharp as broken glass, flickered to the man kneeling before him—Luca Romano.

Luca trembled, his breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. His face was already a mess, swollen from the beating his own brothers had given him before Adrian arrived. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, painting his chin in sticky red. His hands—his traitorous hands—were bound behind his back, the rope biting into his wrists.

He was breathing too fast. He knew what was coming.

Adrian adjusted the sleeves of his black shirt, slow and deliberate. No need to rush. Fear did most of the work for him.

A man stepped forward from the shadows—Nicolo, Adrian’s right-hand man. He crouched beside Luca, gripping his hair and jerking his head back, forcing him to look up at Adrian.

“Tell him,” Nicolo murmured, his voice almost gentle. “Tell him why you did it.”

Luca swallowed hard. His throat bobbed, dry as sandpaper.

“I—” His voice cracked. “I had no choice.”

Adrian raised a brow. “No choice?”

Luca nodded desperately. “The cops… they came to my house. They—” His breath hitched. “They said they’d throw me inside for life if I didn’t tell them what they wanted. My wife, my son—what would happen to them?”

Silence.

Adrian’s face betrayed nothing.

Luca’s breath quickened. “I swear to you, Boss, I didn’t want to do it. But they backed me into a corner. I thought—” His voice wavered. “I thought if I gave them just one thing, they’d leave me alone. Just the time. Just the port—”

“The time and the port,” Adrian repeated. His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

Luca flinched. “I—I didn’t think—”

Adrian knelt in front of him, leveling their gaze. “That’s the problem, Luca.” He reached out, almost affectionate, and wiped the blood from Luca’s cheek with his thumb. “You didn’t think.”

Luca shuddered under the touch.

“I trusted you.” Adrian’s voice was calm, unshaken. “And you handed my shipment to the cops.”

“I swear, I never meant to—”

Adrian grabbed Luca’s face, fingers pressing hard into his jaw. “What you meant doesn’t matter.”

Luca whimpered.

Adrian let go, straightening. He took a step back, rolling his shoulders as if stretching out tension. The room remained still, the men watching in silence, waiting.

Then he turned to Nicolo.

“Hold out his hands.”

Luca started thrashing. “No—please, Boss—”

Nicolo and another man, Matteo, seized him easily, forcing him forward onto his stomach. One of them yanked at the ropes, dragging his arms out in front of him. His fingers clawed uselessly at the floor.

Adrian turned to another man standing by the metal table—a long wooden crate beside him, already open.

A blade gleamed in the dim light.

Matteo grabbed it, bringing it to Adrian, handle first.

Adrian took his time. He examined the knife, running a finger along the sharp edge. The steel glinted, wicked and hungry.

Luca sobbed. “Boss, please. I have a family—”

“And now they’ll know you were a coward,” Adrian murmured.

Luca thrashed, his fingers twisting against the rope.

Adrian crouched beside him, pressing a hand to his shoulder to still him. Then, in one fluid motion, he raised the blade—

And brought it down.

A scream tore through the warehouse, sharp and raw.

Blood splattered across the concrete, pooling in dark, sticky rivers beneath Luca’s trembling form.

His hand was gone.

His screams turned to choked sobs. His body convulsed, writhing against the agony as the men held him down. The severed hand twitched a few inches away, fingers curling, as if trying to grasp at air.

Adrian wiped the blade clean against Luca’s shirt.

“Loyalty,” he murmured, “is everything.”

Luca could barely breathe. His remaining hand clawed at the floor, nails scraping against the concrete. His cries were hoarse now, voice breaking.

But Adrian wasn’t finished.

He crouched again, grabbing Luca’s bloodied wrist. He guided his remaining hand forward, positioning it against the floor.

“No—” Luca’s breath hitched. “Please—”

Adrian didn’t hesitate.

The knife came down a second time.

The warehouse filled with another scream, then silence.

Luca collapsed, gasping like a fish out of water. His body shuddered violently, but he no longer struggled. His arms, both of them, ended in raw, jagged stumps, blood spilling freely onto the cold floor.

Adrian stood, slipping the blade into Nicolo’s waiting hand.

Nicolo nodded toward the men standing in the shadows. “Clean this up.”

Two of them stepped forward immediately, pulling on gloves. One grabbed a tarp from the side, shaking it open. The other retrieved a plastic container.

Luca was too weak to fight when they wrapped him in the tarp.

His body disappeared inside, swallowed whole.

“Where do you want him, Boss?” Nicolo asked.

Adrian adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. His voice was indifferent. “The river.”

Nicolo smirked. “Thought so.”

The men carried Luca’s body toward the back entrance. The sound of a car door opening and slamming shut followed moments later. They would drive him out to the docks, weigh him down, and let the current take care of the rest.

He would never be found.

Adrian turned, eyes scanning the blood-slicked floor.

He exhaled slowly, then walked toward the door.

Another problem solved.

Another lesson taught.

And yet, a nagging sensation curled at the back of his mind.

The cops were getting bolder.

And that meant only one thing—

Someone was coming for him.

******************* 

The black SUV rumbled down the empty road, its headlights slicing through the thick fog rolling off the water. The docks loomed ahead, skeletal cranes jutting into the sky like the bones of a long-dead beast. The air reeked of salt and diesel, mingling with something far worse—the stench of blood soaking into the trunk’s carpeting.

In the driver’s seat, Matteo’s fingers curled tightly around the wheel, knuckles white. His jaw clenched as the tires crunched over the gravel. Beside him, Rocco stared out the window, cigarette smoke curling from his lips. The flickering ember cast a brief glow over his face, highlighting the deep scar running from his temple to his jaw.

From the back seat, Marco shifted, the leather creaking under his weight. “I still can’t believe he did it,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the steady hum of the engine.

Matteo scoffed, eyes never leaving the road. “You better believe it. That bastard sang like a damn canary.”

A thud sounded from the trunk as the car hit a pothole. The three men went silent for a beat, listening. The dead didn’t complain, but something about that dull, final weight always sent a shiver through them.

Rocco took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “Luca knew the rules. Knew what would happen if he talked.” His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—something close to disgust.

“Then why’d he do it?” Marco asked, shaking his head. “The guy wasn’t stupid.”

Matteo pulled up beside the loading dock, throwing the SUV into park. He let out a humorless chuckle. “Fear does strange things to a man.”

The engine cut off, plunging them into silence. Only the distant lap of water against the pylons and the occasional creak of the dock filled the air.

Rocco flicked his cigarette onto the ground, crushing it beneath his boot. “Let’s get this over with.”

They climbed out, their breath misting in the cold night air. Matteo popped the trunk.

The scent of blood rushed out first, thick and metallic, settling in their lungs. Luca’s body lay in the trunk, sprawled awkwardly, his face frozen in a twisted mask of agony. His shirt, once crisp, was now soaked through, dark with congealed blood. His wrists were nothing but mangled stumps, wrapped sloppily with rags that had long since stopped doing their job.

Marco swallowed hard. He’d seen plenty of bodies in his time, but there was something about Luca’s that made his stomach twist. Maybe it was because he’d known him. Had shared drinks with him. Had fought alongside him.

But there was no room for pity. Not in their world.

Matteo reached in, grabbing Luca under the arms. “Marco, get his legs.”

Marco hesitated a second too long.

Rocco shot him a sharp look. “You gonna stand there like a damn idiot, or you gonna help?”

Marco snapped out of it, moving to grab Luca’s legs. The body was heavier than he expected, dead weight sinking into his grip. The three of them carried him toward the edge of the dock, their boots thudding against the worn wooden planks.

The water below was dark, yawning wide like an open grave.

As they reached the edge, Matteo exhaled sharply. “Tie the chains.”

Rocco pulled a length of rusted chain from the bag they’d brought, wrapping it tightly around Luca’s ankles. The metal clinked with every loop, each sound final.

Marco cleared his throat. “You really think Adrian’s colder than his old man?”

A bitter chuckle escaped Matteo. “You even gotta ask?”

Marco shrugged. “I mean… his father was ruthless. Built this empire from the ground up. Everyone feared him.”

Rocco tightened the last knot and glanced up, a smirk playing on his lips. “And yet, Adrian’s the one running it now.”

That was all that needed to be said.

Adrian Moretti hadn’t just inherited his father’s empire—he had earned it.

The old man had been a legend, sure. Feared. Respected. But Adrian?

Adrian was something else entirely.

He didn’t make loud declarations. Didn’t waste breath on threats. His silence was worse than any shouted warning. And when he struck, it was swift, merciless—like a knife slipping between ribs before you even felt the pain.

Marco exhaled. “Guess that’s why we’d never betray him.”

Matteo gave a short nod. “Damn right.”

Rocco jerked his chin toward the water. “Alright. Let’s send him off.”

With a grunt, they lifted Luca’s body higher and swung.

The corpse hit the water with a sickening splash, chains dragging it down almost instantly. Within seconds, it was gone—just ripples on the surface, then nothing at all.

Marco stared at the spot where Luca had vanished, his fingers flexing at his sides.

Matteo clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t lose sleep over it, kid. He made his choice.”

Marco nodded, but deep down, he wondered.

If fear could break a man like Luca…

Could it break any of them?

Rocco lit another cigarette, exhaling smoke into the cold night air. “Let’s get out of here.”

They turned and headed back to the SUV, leaving behind only the whisper of the waves and the ghosts of men who had learned the hard way—

There was no mercy for traitors.

Not in Adrian Moretti’s world.