Chapter 5 - A Debt in Blood
The silence in the grand ballroom was deafening. Guests looked between Dante and his top attorney, confused by the sudden tension turning the celebratory atmosphere into an execution ground.
Julian Vance swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically toward the ballroom exits. But at every door stood two of Dante’s armed enforcers, their hands folded neatly in front of their waists, blocking every path.
"Dante, you're making a scene in front of the press," Vance stammered, his voice losing its polished composure. "Put the glass down."
"I offered you a toast, Julian," Dante said, stepping off the low riser. The towering mob boss closed the distance between them until he loomed directly over the smaller attorney. "If this vintage is worthy of the Vitale name, it is certainly worthy of yours. Drink, or I will have Marco pour it down your throat right here on this stage."
Vance’s nerve broke completely. With a terrified gasp, he slapped Dante’s hand away. The crystal glass tumbled through the air, crashing violently onto the white marble floor. The dark red liquid splashed across the hem of the white tablecloth and pooled on the polished stone.
Within seconds, the estate’s guard dog—a massive German Shepherd leashed near the perimeter—trotted curiously over to the puddle before its handler could pull it back. The dog lapped at the spilled wine twice.
Less than thirty seconds later, the animal let out a strangled yelp, collapsed onto its side, and began convulsing violently as foam gathered around its muzzle. The handler frantically dragged the dying dog toward the side doors as screams erupted through the crowd.
Panic detonated across the ballroom. High-society women dropped their purses and fled toward the rear exits; politicians shoved past each other in a frantic scramble to escape the line of fire. Within two minutes, the grand ballroom was completely emptied of guests, leaving only broken crystal, overturned chairs, and Dante’s inner circle of armed loyalists.
Vance was on his knees on the marble floor, trembling so violently his teeth chattered.
"Get him up," Dante commanded, his voice cold as a winter grave.
Two enforcers seized Vance by his armpits, hauling him upward and dragging him toward the private service elevators that led down into the mansion's subterranean levels.
Dante turned to look at his mother, who stood clutching my arm with white-knuckled intensity. Rosa’s face was pale, but her chin remained high. She looked at Dante and signed slowly, deliberately: Find out who paid him. He did not act alone.
"I know," Dante replied aloud, his gaze shifting to me. My hands were shaking so hard I had to tuck them into the folds of my velvet dress. He walked over, his expression softening by an imperceptible fraction. "You saved my life twice tonight, Nora."
"I just... I just translated what I saw," I whispered, the adrenaline coursing through my veins making my chest ache.
"You did what my men couldn't," Dante said. "And because of that, you are now involved in a war that began before you were born. Vance's associates will know that someone gave me the warning. If you return to your apartment tonight, you will be dead before sunrise."
"My apartment?" Panic flared in my throat. "I have a job. I have my studies—"
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"Your old life ended the second you signed to my mother at Fiore," Dante said bluntly, but without cruelty. "You stay here, under my roof, where my men can protect you. Marco! Escort Miss Callahan and my mother to the third-floor private suites. Double the perimeter guard."
As Marco stepped forward to guide us away, Dante turned toward the service elevator where Vance had been taken. The darkness in his eyes was absolute. A debt had been incurred, and in the Vitale family, debts were paid in blood.
