Chapter 5 - Fractured Protection
The air in the subterranean conference room beneath the Moretti estate was thick with the scent of old leather and cigar smoke. Heavy stone walls muffled any sound from the outside world.
Marcus Valenti sat at the head of the long oak table, silver-haired, impeccably tailored, possessing the calm demeanor of a veteran diplomat. When Dante entered the room, Marcus offered a warm, patriarchal smile—the same smile he had given Dante when Dante’s father was laid to rest.
"Dante," Marcus said smoothly, spreading his hands. "Leo said you called an emergency meeting. Is something wrong with the docks?"
Dante walked slowly around the table, his hands resting casually in his trouser pockets. Leo stood by the heavy oak door, his hand resting near his coat.
"Nothing is wrong with the docks, Marcus," Dante said, his voice dangerously even. "I was actually reflecting on history tonight. On loyalty. Do you remember what you told me seven years ago, right after Clare left?"
Marcus’s eyes flickered, a momentary glitch in his cool composure before his mask slammed back into place. "I told you that a leader cannot afford distractions, Dante. I told you that women like Clare are soft. They belong in the light, not in our world."
"You told me she never called," Dante said, stopping right behind Marcus’s chair. He leaned down, placing his hands on the back of Marcus’s seat, bending his head close to the older man’s ear. "You told her that I would consider her a breach of contract if she ever tried to reach me again."
Marcus went entirely still. The color slowly drained from his weathered face.
"Dante... you have to understand," Marcus began, his voice losing its polished rhythm. "Your father gave his life for this family. You were losing your edge. You were talking about selling off assets, stepping down, going legitimate. She was pulling you away from your destiny!"
"She was carrying my son," Dante whispered.
The word hung in the cold air like a strike of thunder. Marcus’s eyes widened in genuine shock. "A... a son?"
"My blood," Dante rasped, grabbing Marcus by the back of his silk collar and yanking him backward out of the chair. Marcus crashed onto the floor, gasping for air as Dante stepped over him, towering like an avenging deity. "Seven years, Marcus. You stole seven years of my son’s life. You made him grow up thinking he had no father."
"I did it for the family!" Marcus choked out, scrambling backward against the wall. "Look at what we built! We control the city! Marcone is on his knees!"
"Marcone isn't on his knees, Marcus," Dante snapped, tossing the tablet onto the floor beside him. "Marcone is paying you fifteen percent on every shipment moving through Pier 42. I have the bank trails. I have the surveillance. You didn't do this for the family. You did it for greed, and you used my grief as your foundation."
Marcus looked at the tablet, realizing the trap had closed around him. His face hardened, the groveling posture vanishing. "You’re weak, Dante," Marcus spat, blood leaking from his lip. "Just like your father was at the end. You think you can play suburban dad now? Marcone knows you were in Bennett Heights tonight. His scouts were already watching that neighborhood. If I fall, he moves on that house tomorrow!"
Dante’s eyes narrowed into terrifying abysses. He drew a suppressed pistol from his waist holster in one fluid motion, pointing it directly between Marcus’s eyes.
"Thank you for confirming," Dante said coldly.
Thwip.
The suppressed shot echoed quietly in the stone room. Marcus slouched against the mahogany paneling, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
Dante turned to Leo without missing a beat. "Clean this up. Put the family on high alert. We are moving on Marcone’s command center in two hours."
May you like
"And the boy?" Leo asked, his voice steady.
"I’m going to Bennett Heights myself," Dante said, pulling out his phone. "Because if Marcone’s scouts are on that street, Christmas morning is about to become a war zone."
