His Villain

7

12:35 am (Italy)

The silvery white moonlight gracefully cascaded upon the sprawling landscape, illuminating the ground with a mystical glow. A gentle breeze carried the scent of the night, a fragrant tapestry woven intricately into the air, enveloping every inch of the surroundings. The world appeared ethereal, veiled in enigmatic hues, concealing its intricate details and offering only glimpses of its secrets. It felt as though one had stepped into a realm of dreams, where reality blurred and fantasies danced.

As night descended, the expansive canvas of the sky was adorned with a myriad of twinkling stars, each one beckoning, as if extending an invitation to venture into the vast expanse of space. The chaste moon sailed across the deep blue sea of the heavens, resembling a silver vessel gliding through uncharted waters.

In the dimly lit outskirts, a sense of anticipation hung heavy in the air. The young man, leaning against his car, his senior, exhaled a cloud of smoke from his cigarette. The young man's voice pierced the silence, "Do you think they will come? It's already 12:35." The senior, his face reflecting a mix of weariness and impatience, responded, his words mingling with the smoke, "They have no choice. The Russians and the fear of the don ensure their punctuality. Useless bastards, always running late."

Fifteen individuals stood on edge, their collective breath held, awaiting the arrival of Ivanov and Romano. Clad in black attire, armed to the teeth, there were eleven men and four women, their presence as testament to the gravity of the impending encounter.

Crushing the cigarette under his leather shoe, the senior turned to a tall man named Jimmy and inquired, "Jimmy, have you checked the routes?" Receiving an affirmative response, he proceeded to provide the group with concise instructions, outlining their respective roles and tasks.

"They are approaching. They will reach the designated location in just three minutes," a lady announced, her eyes glued to a device in her hand, monitoring their progress. "Everyone, it's time to move," the commanding voice of the senior echoed, prompting swift action from the assembled group. He retrieved a pair of binoculars from his car seat, meticulously scanning the road, searching for their prey. The team utilized the cover of forests and hills, positioning themselves strategically to secure all possible routes leading to the area.

Soon enough, in a matter of minutes, their vigilant eyes spotted a convoy of black Range Rovers, SUVs, and two trucks advancing towards the predetermined destination. The group members emerged from their concealed positions, standing resolute with weapons at the ready.

Amidst the lineup of vehicles, a Bugatti Veyron graced the scene, its powerful engine purring before coming to a halt. An attentive bodyguard opened the door, allowing a figure to step out. Nikolai Ivanov, radiating an air of pride and authority, took center stage, yet his searching gaze failed to locate the person who had finalized the deal just two days prior. A hint of concern marred his features as he noticed the absence of Senior Romano's assistant. Why hadn't he attended this crucial meeting? Nikolai's thoughts churned with unease.

Little did they know, more surprises awaited them.

Extending his hand in a gesture of greeting, Parker, a member of the group, sought a handshake. Nikolai reciprocated, exuding a gentlemanly aura as their palms met. Conversations ensued, their words shrouded in secrecy, as the trucks loaded with weapons and girls began their journey along the main routes. The hope that everything would proceed smoothly hung in the air, but fate had divergent plans-a prayer answered for some and denied for others.

Suddenly, a rain of smoke grenades and bullets transformed the scene into an inferno before their astonished eyes. Mouths agape, eyes wide with shock, they struggled to comprehend who was attacking whom. Doubts arose, fueled by the realization that they might have fallen victim to the machinations of a rival mafia. Two grenades exploded, marking the place where the deal had supposedly reached its conclusion. Panic seized them all, but it was too late to react; they were caught in the cruel grip of helplessness. The men stood dumbfounded, their thoughts paralyzed, as the lifeless bodies of their comrades lay strewn upon the unforgiving concrete ground. Bullets pierced through what remained of their defenses. The smoke veiled their surroundings, obscuring their vision, preventing them from retaliating against the elusive invaders. Desperately, they searched for signs of their assailants, but no trace of their existence lingered amidst the ruins. Questions plagued their minds-were others involved, or was this a nightmarish ordeal they were trapped within?

After arduous struggles, they managed to extract Nikolai Ivanov from the war zone, and the surviving members hastily retreated from the area, seeking refuge in their designated safe haven.

"Liana, how many casualties?" the man inquired, his gaze fixated on the lady who approached, clutching a report she had prepared amidst the chaos. "From the Russian side, we lost a total of twenty-five men, while the Italians suffered nineteen casualties. Twenty-nine lives were extinguished, and the rest sustained injuries, including Nikolai and Senior Romano's assistant."

"Good work, everyone. Take the wounded and objects to the quarters and rest," the man relayed through the walkie-talkie he carried, granting respite to his weary comrades. With a final command, he departed for his own destination, leaving the battlefield behind.

Now, the notorious don would have to reveal himself, but he would not so easily lay his hands on the true culprit. Sacrifices would be made, for they believed it was a necessary price to pay, regardless of the consequences.