First message
The first gunshot shatters the night like glass.
Then another.
And another.
Naples doesn’t sleep—but tonight, it screams.
Matteo “Il Veleno” DeLuca stands in the center of it all, unmoving as chaos erupts around him. The port district is ablaze with headlights, shouting men, and the sharp, deafening crack of gunfire ricocheting off stone walls.
“Don, we need to move—!” one of his men barks.
Matteo doesn’t answer.
His gaze is fixed across the street.
A rival convoy has just rolled in—black SUVs, doors flung open, men pouring out with weapons already raised. This wasn’t supposed to escalate this fast.
But someone broke the rules.
And Matteo always finishes what others start.
He lifts his hand slightly.
That’s all it takes.
His men surge forward.
Gunfire erupts in full.
Bullets tear through the night air.
Glass explodes. Tires screech. Someone screams.
Matteo steps forward into the storm like he owns it—because he does.
A man rushes him from the left—
A single shot.
The body drops before it hits the ground.
Matteo exhales slowly, steady, controlled. His coat barely shifts in the wind of passing bullets.
And then—
He sees her.