Chapter 15 - The Voice from the Shadows
When the gunfire on the upper levels finally began to stutter and fade, it was not because the attackers had retreated.
It was because Dante’s secondary strike force—summoned by encrypted signal—had encircled the estate grounds from the harbor, cutting off the mercenaries' extraction boats.
We climbed the stone steps back up into the grand hall. The once-magnificent estate was scarred by war: bullet holes riddling the marble pillars, the shattered remains of the crystal chandeliers littering the floor, the smell of cordite heavy in the air.
In the center of the devastated dining hall, surrounded by a dozen heavily armed Moretti enforcers, one survivor knelt on the blood-soaked Persian rug.
His tactical vest was shredded, his mask ripped off to reveal a grizzled, scarred face with cold gray eyes. On his collar was a small silver pin: a coiled serpent eating its own tail.
Dante walked toward him like death incarnate, the click of his boots on the shattered porcelain sounding like a metronome counting down the man’s final seconds.
Marco kicked the mercenary in the ribs, forcing him upright. "He was carrying an active satellite relay, Boss. Someone’s waiting on the line."
Marco held up a rugged tactical radio. A small green light blinked steadily on its console.
Dante took the radio, pressing the receiver to his ear, his gaze never leaving the kneeling man. "Speak."
A long silence hung over the line, followed by the dry, rasping chuckle of an elderly man. The voice was smooth, cultured, and dripping with ancient, untouchable malice.
*"Don Moretti,"* the voice whispered through the speaker. *"You fight like a feral wolf. Just as your father did before we put him in the earth."*
Dante’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained absolute ice. *"Don Vincente. I wondered when the last coward of the Old Council would crawl out of his crypt."*
*"We built this city while your grandfather was still shoveling coal in Palermo, boy,"* Vincente hissed. *"You think executing Julian and that foolish girl Genevieve made you untouchable? They were pawns. Julian was an impatient dog, and Genevieve was a vanity-blinded idiot. But the girl you harbor... that chubby little stray you keep at your side... she is far more dangerous than you understand."*
Dante shifted, subtly angling his body to block me from the kneeling prisoner's view. *"Her name is Cora. And she belongs to me."*
*"She belongs to a grave,"* Vincente sneered. *"Her grandfather stole the blood-rights of the Council. He hid the master codex of our poisons—and the formulas that can neutralize them. As long as she lives, every poison we trade on the international market is worthless, because she has the lineage to synthesize the cure. Hand her over to us, Dante. Deliver the girl to the docks at dawn, and the Council will grant you your territory in peace."*
Dante let out a low, terrifying laugh that made the kneeling mercenary visibly flinch.
*"You sent thirty men into my home,"* Dante said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. *"You put a red laser on the heart of the woman I am going to marry. You threatened my people, you destroyed my hall, and now you have the audacity to negotiate?"*
A heavy silence fell over the radio.
*"Listen to me very carefully, Vincente,"* Dante continued, every syllable carved from obsidian. *"I am not going to deliver Cora to your docks. I am going to hunt down every single estate, bank account, and safehouse the Council owns. I will skin your empire down to the bone. And when I finally stand over your wheelchair, I will let Cora pour her grandfather's vintage down your throat."*
Dante crushed the satellite radio in his bare fist, the plastic and microchips snapping and sparking beneath his iron grip, before tossing the shattered pieces onto the floor.
He looked down at the kneeling prisoner.
"You heard my answer," Dante said coldly.
"Wait!" the mercenary gasped, his composure cracking. "I can tell you where Vincente’s main redoubt is! The coordinates of the island bunker in Maine—"
May you like
Dante didn't even blink. He looked at Marco. "Take him to the kennels. Extract the coordinates. Make sure he screams loud enough for the harbor to hear."
"Understood, Boss," Marco said, dragging the struggling man away down the service corridor.
