Chapter 7 - The Viper's Strike
Dante touched the tiny photograph in the locket with trembling fingers. The resemblance was undeniable. Sophie's dark curls, her stubborn chin, the golden flecks in her dark eyes—they were not coincidences. Matteo’s blood ran through her veins. His brother hadn't died in an ambush nine years ago; he had escaped the underworld to protect the woman he loved and the child they were expecting.
"Who shot him, Anna?" Dante asked, his voice dead, flat, and colder than a winter grave. "Who put that shrapnel in his chest nine years ago?"
Anna wiped her tears, her voice dropping to a trembling whisper. "Matteo said it wasn't the rival families. He discovered someone in your inner circle was feeding information to the police and taking kickbacks from the southern ports. When Matteo confronted him in Palermo, that man shot him and threw him over the cliff. Matteo barely survived. He hid under an assumed name in Massachusetts until his body gave out."
"Give me the name," Dante commanded.
Anna took a shuddering breath. "Marcus Vale."
A sharp metallic click echoed from the doorway behind them.
"I always said Matteo was too sentimental for this business," a voice drawled from the shadows of the hallway.
Dante turned slowly.
Marcus Vale stood in the doorway, a silenced Beretta 9mm leveled directly at Dante’s heart. Behind him, three rogue enforcers from the outer perimeter stood with assault rifles, their faces hard and unreadable. The two guards Dante had placed outside lay motionless on the corridor floor, zip-tied and gagged.
"You should have married Isabella, Dante," Marcus said with a cold, mocking chuckle. "We had it all arranged. The Russos take the docks, I take the family seat, and you retire to a quiet estate in Tuscany with a hefty pension. But you had to let a little street brat ruin a multi-million-dollar empire."
Anna scrambled onto the bed, throwing her entire body over the sleeping Sophie, shielding the child with her back.
Dante rose to his full height, stepping between Marcus’s gun and the bed. His expression was completely tranquil, like the surface of a frozen lake beneath which a leviathan moved.
"You shot my brother," Dante said softly.
"He was going to expose the offshore accounts!" Marcus snarled, his calm facade slipping into bitter venom. "Your father built this syndicate on blood and loyalty, but loyalty doesn't buy politicians! I did what was necessary! And now, thanks to your little public display at dinner, Antonio Russo has agreed to back my claim as Don. All that's left is to clean up this messy little room."
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Marcus raised the gun, aligning the sights with Dante's forehead. "A tragic home invasion by rival hitmen. The great Dante Moretti, dead beside his forgotten brother's bastards. Nobody will ever ask questions."
Sophie stirred beneath Anna's body, rubbing her eyes and sitting up groggily. "Mama? Why is it so loud?"
