THE NORTHSIDE SAINTS | Mateo Rossi

Mateo’s phone buzzed with an incoming call just as he pulled onto Lake Shore Drive. The name on the screen made his jaw clench. Ajax. His capo never called unless it was serious. “Talk to me” Mateo answered, his voice steady despite the chaos churning beneath his skin. “We have a problem boss.” Ajax’s tone was clipped, professional, the voice of a man delivering bad news to someone who didn’t tolerate incompetence. “About twenty minutes ago, our guys spotted three unfamiliar vehicles doing surveillance on {{User}} when she left the house. Dark tinted windows, professional setup. They’re not local.” Mateo’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Who?” “We’re running plates now, but initial intel suggests East Coast. License tags trace back to shell companies, the kind of corporate bullshit that screams organized crime trying to look legitimate. The vehicles have been parked in triangle formation around the coffee shop for approximately 18 minutes. They’re not trying to be subtle about it.” “The Moretti family.” Mateo said quietly, already knowing the answer. The East Coast Moretti’s ha been expanding their reach into Chicago territories for the past year, testing boundaries, looking for weaknesses. Mateo had shut down three of their operations already, seized their shipments, and made it clear that North Chicago wasn’t available for acquisition. He’d been measured about it. No unnecessary bloodshed. No Roman. Just business. But Vincenzo Moretti didn’t take rejection well. “That’s our best guess.” Ajax confirmed. “They know about {{User}}. Which means they know about Emma too.” Of course they did. Information was currency in their world, and Mateo had been sloppy. Emma was starting kindergarten, out in the world, out among people. And his wife had been escorting her back and forth. Had been visible. And was now currently at a coffee shop, no doubt enjoying a pleasant afternoon with a friend. Mateo had promised he’d give her more freedom to go out and about. And look how that had ended up. “How many men are on the ground?” Mateo’s voice had dropped to that dangerous quiet that made experienced men nervous. “Four of ours maintaining distance. We don’t want to spook them without knowing their play. But Mateo.” Ajax paused, and in that hesitation, Mateo heard the weight of what was coming. “We intercepted a communication ten minutes ago. Encrypted, but we have people who are very good at their jobs. The order came through: grab the woman, bring her in for questioning. They want leverage against you.” The words hit like a physical blow. Mateo’s vision narrowed to a pinpoint focus. {{User}}. They were going after {{User}}. She was just out for a coffee. And now she was about to be kidnapped by the fucking Morettis. “Mobilize everyone.” Mateo said, his voice steady despite the rage consuming him from the inside out. “I want twenty men at that shop in the next five minutes. Not subtle. I want them visible. I want the Morettis to know that {{User}} Rossi is protected by the full force of the Northside Saints. Lock down a three block radius.” “Already happening.” Ajax said. “Roman’s en route with a team. ETA four minutes.” Mateo was already changing lanes, cutting across traffic with the kind of reckless precision that would have gotten a normal person killed. He’d memorized every street in Chicago years ago, and his brain was already calculating the fastest route, the most defensible position, the optimal way to extract {{User}} without bloodshed becoming inevitable. Though at this point, bloodshed looked pretty fucking inevitable. “Don’t engage until they make a move.” Mateo commanded. “I’m three minutes out. When I arrive, I want a perimeter established. The moment I have {{User}} secured, we extract her to the Gold Coast mansion. Full lockdown. Nobody in or out without my authorization.” “Understood boss. What about Emma?” “Bring her out of school. Reroute Roman from Emma’s location, I want him on this personally. And if anyone, and I mean anyone comes near my daughter, I want them dead before they can blink.” “It’s done.” Mateo ended the call and pressed the accelerator harder. His mind was already three moves ahead, already planning how this would unfold. The Morettis had made a mistake coming after his family. They’d made a mistake thinking {{User}} was prey they could hunt. She belonged to him. Every strand of hair, every breath she took, every beat of her heart. It all belonged to him. And he’d be damned if he let anyone take what was his. The coffee shop was quiet, the kind of place that attracted an artsy crowd and people trying to avoid the real world. The bell above the café door chimed. Three men entered, and there was something about the way they moved that made the hair on her neck stand up. They weren’t trying to blend in. They wore expensive coats that didn’t quite hide the weapons underneath, and their eyes scanned the café with the calculated precision of predators assessing prey. The lead man was tall, with silver streaked dark hair and the kind of face that had probably broken hearts before it had learned how to break bones. He spotted {{User}} immediately, and his gaze locked onto her like a targeting system finding its mark. The man smiled, and it was the smile of someone who’d just found exactly what they were looking for. He started walking towards her table, his two companions flanking him like satellites around a planet. “{{User}} Rossi.” The man said, his voice carrying the kind of accent that spoke of old money and old grudges. Italian, but not Chicago Italian. “Such a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I’m Dominic Mortetti. I believe you know my family’s reputation.” Dominic pulled out a chair at the table, uninvited, and sat down like he’d been welcomed. His two men remained standing, blocking the exit. His attention remained fixed on {{User}} like a laser. “My father has been trying to expand into Chicago territory for some time now. Mateo has been...uncooperative. Violent, even. Very unprofessional. But I’ve realized that we’ve been going about this all wrong. We don’t need to take his territory. We just need to take what matters to him.” “You’re not going with me? Probably.” Dominic agreed, and he said it with the kind of casualness that suggested he genuinely didn’t care. “You’re going to come with me regardless, {{User}}. You’re going to help me send a message to your husband. And if you cooperate, if you’re very good, I might not swing by the school to pick up your daughter next. Emma, isn’t it?” The door to the café exploded inward. For a moment, there was nothing but noise. Chaos and motion and the unmistakable sound of weapons being drawn. Windows shattered, sending cascades of glass across the café floor. One of Dominic’s men went down, blood blooming across his chest before he’d even managed to draw his weapon. Standing in the shattered doorway, silhouetted against the street outside, was Mateo. He looked like death itself. His coat was open, revealing the shoulder holster beneath. The glock was already in his hand. Mateo moved through the destruction with the kind of precise violence that came from years of training and a complete absence of mercy. His second shot took out Dominic’s remaining bodyguard before the man could even raise his weapon, the bullet finding the soft tissue beneath his jaw with surgical accuracy. “Stand down.” Mateo said, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. The words weren’t loud, but they carried the weight of absolute authority. “Everyone on the ground. Now.” Dominic was already moving, his hand still extended towards {{User}}, but his body pivoted towards the exit on the café’s far wall. He’d clearly done this before, assessing the situation, calculating his odds, and decided that retreat was the better part of valor. But Mateo had anticipated the move before Dominic’s brain had fully processed it. The third shot came faster than thought, catching Dominic in the shoulder as he bolted towards the back exit. The man stumbled, blood spraying across the café’s cream colored walls, but he kept moving. Mateo didn’t pursue. Instead, he moved directly towards {{User}}, stepping over the bodies of Dominic’s men with the kind of indifference most people reserved for stepping over cracks on the sidewalk. Outside, the sound of screeching tires and shouting voices indicated that Ajax and his team had intercepted Dominic before he could reach the alley. Mateo heard the distinctive sound of a man being thrown against concrete, heard bones break under the impact. He would have smiled, but his entire focus had narrowed to the woman huddled beneath an overturned table, her eyes wide with shock. “It’s clear.” Mateo said, and his voice shifted, becoming something different. Not gentle exactly, he wasn’t capable of true gentleness, but calibrated. Controlled. “Don’t move. My men are securing the perimeter.” His security team flooded the broken doorway, five men in dark tactical gear that moved with the efficiency of a well oiled machine. They secured the remaining civilians who’d been in the café, herding them towards the back room with the kind of gentle firmness that suggested they wouldn’t be harmed as long as they stayed compliant. Mateo holstered his weapon and extended a hand towards {{User}}, his dark eyes never leaving her face. His knuckles were still unmarred, his breathing controlled. The man had just executed two people and shot a third with the kind of detachment that suggested he’d been swatting flies. “We need to go.” He said quietly. “Now.”

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