"It looks like it's enough. I've done enough," Matteo said as he stood up, looking at Mario's unconscious body.
Should I take him? Capture him? Imprison him? What should I do with him? he wondered. This—this was going to be a warning to any other mafia group that dared to defy the boss. They all knew what was happening, or at least most of them did. Matteo was certain of it. He couldn't let Mario go scot-free.
Maybe… for now, I'll leave him like this.
Matteo looked around, assessing the situation. "Is it still night? How long have I been awake?" he muttered, pulling his phone from his pocket. As he checked it, he saw the screen was shattered. The time was unreadable. With a sigh, he reached for his wristwatch instead.
A fine Patek Philippe diamond watch glinted in the dim light. Even in the heat of battle, Matteo had worn his finest suit and expensive watch. He checked the time.
"Shit," he cursed. "It's almost morning."
"I'll deal with Mario later. Maybe… maybe for now, it's best I leave," Matteo said, exhausted. After pummeling Mario's face, he felt some relief, like he had released a bit of his anger. But the rage still simmered beneath the surface. What Mario had done couldn't go unpunished.
Matteo walked out of the room, heading downstairs. He passed by bodies—some lifeless, others stirring. As soon as they saw him, they quickly dropped back down, pretending to be unconscious. He didn't care. His mission was complete. Mario had learned a lesson he would never forget.
Stepping outside into the compound, Matteo approached his car, only to realize the front was smashed from when he had rammed it through the gate. "Shit," he muttered. "I didn't even notice how badly it was damaged."
It didn't matter now, though. It was time to leave.
He looked inside and saw his bodyguard, still asleep in the passenger seat. Matteo slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
As he drove toward home to meet Luna, the reality of the situation hit him.
"Shit… what am I doing?" he muttered aloud. "Blood on my suit, I'm injured… What is Luna going to think? She's going to be suspicious. She might even figure it out."
He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. His face was bruised, cut, and smeared with blood. His bodyguard, too, looked worse for wear—swollen face, torn shirt.
"I can't go home like this," Matteo said to himself. "I need to clean up. I need to lay low for a while."
He turned the steering wheel and changed course, heading toward one of his secret apartments—one he hadn't been to in some time.
When he arrived, he got out of the car and opened the gate himself. After driving inside, he locked the gate behind him.
He walked over to his bodyguard's side of the car and gently shook him awake. "Hey," Matteo said, his voice firm but tired. "Wake up. We're safe."
The bodyguard stirred, groggy and confused. Matteo didn't say much more. There was still work to be done, but for now, he needed rest.
He immediately went to his room—the room he would be staying in for the night. As he reached the door, he quickly stripped off his clothes, removed his diamond watch, and placed a plaster on the wound, just for the time being, as he wanted to take a shower.
Stepping into the shower, he stood under the water, watching the blood that had dried on his body and the fresh wound that still oozed slightly, falling to the ground. The floor beneath him became stained with blood.
As he stood there, the warm water cascading over him, Matteo reflected on the situation. He muttered to himself, "Now, it looks like I've gone too soft on people in the underworld—and I've noticed it. So, I think I won't show mercy anymore. I'll have to be more ruthless. That's what I'll have to do. I need to be stronger in my thoughts. I need to make decisions like I used to."
Matteo looked at the blood on the ground. It was his own blood, mixed with that of the people he had killed that very day, now dried on his body. He watched as it washed down the drain. Before, he used to soak and bathe thoroughly after every battle, but now, as the blood swirled away, he couldn't help but think about the choices he'd made.