The air was thick with the scent of rust and old blood. Luca moved carefully through the tunnel beneath the butcher shop, flashlight beam slicing through the darkness like a blade. The walls were damp, slick with condensation, and the floor beneath his boots echoed with every step. Somewhere behind him, the hidden panel had sealed shut, cutting off any escape, forward was the only way now.
He reached into the satchel Frankie had given him and pulled out a small pistol wrapped in oilcloth. He checked the clip. Full. Felt good in his hand. Familiar. Too familiar.
He kept moving.
The tunnel sloped downward, narrowing as it went. Pipes groaned overhead, and the occasional drip of water from above sounded like distant footsteps. His breath came slow and measured. He knew what was coming next. Knew that if Rocco's men had gotten to Frankie, they might already be inside the tunnels.
And then he heard it.
A soft scuff of boots on wet concrete.
Luca killed the flashlight.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
He pressed himself against the wall, heart thudding in his chest. The sound came again, closer this time. Not one set of feet. Two. Maybe three.
He crouched low, fingers tightening around the grip of the gun.
Then...
"Kid," a voice whispered from the dark. "You still breathing?"
Luca exhaled slowly. That voice, he knew it too well.
"Uncle Enzo?" he asked cautiously.
There was a pause. Then the flicker of a lighter ignited, casting jagged shadows across the tunnel walls. Enzo Marchetti stood there, soaked and tired-looking, holding a silenced Glock at his side.
"You always did walk like a ghost," Enzo muttered, closing the distance between them. "Just like your grandfather."
Luca didn't lower his weapon. "What are you doing here?"
Enzo raised an eyebrow. "Same thing as you. Trying not to die."
Luca studied him for a long moment. There was something in Enzo's eyes, an old man's regret, maybe. Or guilt.
"You sent those men after Anton," Luca said coldly. "You let them walk into a trap."
Enzo sighed, rubbing his face. "I tried to stop them. Marco was young, stupid. Thought he could take down a legend with bravado and bullets. He got what he deserved."
Luca stepped forward. "And you? What do you deserve?"
Enzo looked him dead in the eye. "A second chance."
Silence stretched between them like a tight wire.
Finally, Luca lowered the gun. "If you're here to kill me, do it now."
Enzo shook his head. "No. I'm here to help you survive."
Luca scoffed. "Why? Because you feel guilty?"
"No," Enzo said, voice firm. "Because I know how this ends. And I don't want to be on the wrong side of it."
Luca studied him again, longer this time. He saw no lie in the older man's face, only exhaustion, and something else. A kind of resolve.
"Fine," Luca said finally. "But if you double-cross me, I won't hesitate."
Enzo gave a dry chuckle. "Good. You're starting to sound like a Varga."
They turned down a narrow corridor branching off to the left. The tunnel widened into a storage room filled with rusted crates and forgotten tools. At the far end was another steel door, covered in graffiti and decades of dust.
Enzo stopped beside it. "This used to lead to the underground rail lines. Before they tore most of it down."
Luca walked up to the door, running his fingers over the metal. "Where does it go now?"
"To the city," Enzo said. "To war."
Luca took a deep breath. Then he pushed the door open.
Beyond it, the city waited.
Rain fell in sheets above, echoing through the abandoned subway shafts below. In the distance, sirens wailed like wolves calling for blood.
Luca stepped forward without hesitation.
Behind him, Enzo followed.
And somewhere, deep in the belly of Brooklyn, a new chapter was about to begin.