Breeding Justice

11. Chapter Eleven Hassan

Chapter Eleven: Hassan

T he city hummed with its usual early evening energy, a mocking backdrop to the suffocating tension inside Dante’s penthouse. I stood near the window, staring at the skyline. The lights were too bright, too cheerful, as if they didn’t know how close everything was to falling apart. Behind me, Zane and Dante hovered by the table, their voices low, their words sharper than the edge of the knife I wished I had in my hand.

I didn’t want to do this, but…it felt like the right choice. I needed to get Justice back.

“If I bring SJ, Vito will know we’re serious,” I said, turning to face them. My voice sounded steadier than I felt, but it carried the weight of desperation. “It could buy us some goodwill.”

Zane shook his head, slow and deliberate, like a parent about to crush a kid’s na?ve hope. His lean frame looked fragile under those damn bandages, but his tone was anything but. “It’s too risky, Hassan. You know that.”

I bristled, the heat rising in my chest. “And doing nothing isn’t?”

Dante leaned back in his chair, all calm detachment and smug indifference. His eyes glinted like a snake’s, and that sly little smile on his face made me want to smash something. “Listen to the good doctor,” he said, gesturing lazily toward Zane. “He’s right. Bringing SJ would scream desperation. Vito would see it as a weakness, and trust me, you don’t want to show him weakness.”

My jaw tightened. “Zane shouldn’t even be here,” I shot back, my eyes snapping to him. “You need to rest.”

“I’m not sitting this out,” Zane said firmly, his calm voice cutting through my frustration. “Injured or not, I’m here.”

I wanted to argue, but the resolve in his eyes stopped me. He wasn’t going to back down, not on this. Before I could say anything else, Dante decided to chime in again.

“Zane’s fine,” he said, his tone maddeningly casual. “But you, Hassan—you’re the one I’m worried about.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and fixed me with a look that cut deeper than any knife. “Can you even stay calm? This isn’t just about your family. This is bigger than you.”

“I can handle it,” I snapped, the words like a slap to the air.

“Can you?” Dante’s smirk widened, and his voice dripped with mockery. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re about two seconds away from exploding.”

The room went silent, save for the faint hum of the city outside. My pulse pounded in my ears, my chest tightening as I fought to keep the anger in check. Justice, Bash, Skylar—images of them flickered through my mind like a slideshow from hell. I could see their faces, hear their voices. And SJ—God, poor Sebastian. He didn’t even know the storm he was caught in.

“We can’t make promises we can’t keep,” Zane said quietly, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but his words felt like a punch to the gut. “If we tell Vito something and don’t deliver, it’ll be worse than saying nothing at all.”

“We can’t promise something we’re not delivering,” Zane said quietly, his words sharp but steady. “If Vito catches even a whiff of deception, we’re dead before we even leave the table.”

“So what?” I snapped, turning to him. “We go in empty-handed? Hope Vito decides to play nice out of the goodness of his heart?”

Zane didn’t flinch. “No. We sell the lie. But you don’t sell it by looking like a man holding nothing but a bad bluff.”

Dante shrugged, the gesture so nonchalant it made my blood boil. “Your call, Hassan. But remember this—a desperate man is a dangerous man. And Vito? He’ll smell your fear before you even open your mouth.”

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms as I swallowed the retort burning on my tongue. This wasn’t just about SJ, or Bash, or Justice—it was about everything. I had to keep control, had to keep my head.

Closing my eyes, I took a long breath. In. Out. Steady. When I opened them again, the anger had drained, replaced by something colder. Harder. “Fine,” I said. “We do it your way.”

For now.

The three of us stood in unison, the tension between us as fragile as glass. As we moved toward the door, I let my gaze linger on the city outside the penthouse windows. It sparkled like a million promises, each one as breakable as the alliances we were trying to hold together.

I wondered how many of those promises would shatter before this was over.

Night had settled over the city by the time the black SUV pulled up to the curb. The upscale restaurant, usually buzzing with life, now felt like a mausoleum. The air was still, the street eerily empty, as if the whole city held its breath for what was about to happen. I stepped out of the SUV, my boots hitting the pavement with more weight than they should have carried. Zane followed, his movements stiff, pain likely pulling at the edges of his composure. Dante was last, adjusting his jacket like we were walking into a cocktail party instead of a trap.

The cold air bit at my skin, but it did nothing to dull the tension gnawing at me. I had never liked the cold.

I missed Miami.

The restaurant’s dim lights spilled across the sidewalk, casting shadows that danced and warped. Two men stood at the entrance, arms crossed, their stances screaming authority. My skin prickled as I caught sight of the unmistakable bulge of firearms under their jackets.

I glanced at Zane. He gave me a subtle nod, his face calm despite everything. Then I looked at Dante, who strolled forward with that unshakable cool of his. How the man kept his composure, I’d never know. Maybe I didn’t want to know.

One of the guards stepped forward, his voice low and gravelly. “No weapons.”

“We know the drill,” Dante said smoothly, raising his hands, palms up, to show he was clean. His voice slid through the tension like a knife cutting butter. I followed suit, as did Zane, though I hated the vulnerability of being unarmed. Satisfied, the guards pushed open the heavy wooden doors, and we stepped inside.

The restaurant was a shell of what it should’ve been. All the wealth, the opulence—it felt dead. Hollow. Like someone had sucked out its soul, leaving only dim lighting and the scent of furniture polish. Shadows stretched long across the room, and I couldn’t shake the feeling they were watching me, waiting for me to make a wrong move.

Another guard met us near the bar. This one didn’t bother with pleasantries, just motioned for us to follow him through the maze of empty tables. It looked like a battlefield after a retreat—abandoned, eerily quiet. When we reached a set of double doors, the guard shoved them open and gestured us through.

The private dining room was smaller than I’d expected. Claustrophobic, even. A long mahogany table sat in the middle, polished so perfectly it reflected the low-hanging chandelier. And there he was—Vito De Luca. Frail, his shoulders slumped with age, his skin sallow, but his eyes…those eyes were anything but weak. They pinned me to the floor the moment I walked in, sharp and calculating, like a wolf sizing up its prey.

Dante took the lead, as we’d planned. Seemed like he always did. I followed, trying to keep my breathing steady as I slid into a chair across from Vito. Zane sat beside me, quiet but watchful. Every detail in the room felt magnified—the way the mahogany table stretched between us like a chasm, the way Vito’s men loomed behind him, stone-faced and armed.

“Vito,” Dante began, his voice smooth as silk. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. We understand how difficult things have been for you lately.”

Vito’s gaze shifted to Dante, his thin lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Difficult, yes. But not insurmountable.” His words were slow, deliberate, each one carrying the weight of a sledgehammer. “I’m surprised to see you here, Dante. I thought you’d washed your hands of this… enterprise.”

Dante didn’t flinch. “I’m here as a friend. We all want the same thing—to find a solution that works for everyone.”

Vito’s attention snapped to me. His eyes narrowed, and a chill ran down my spine. “Is that so? I was under the impression that some of us were more interested in saving their own skins than in finding a true solution.”

I met his gaze, refusing to blink. “We want Sebastian safe. That’s all.” My voice cracked slightly on the last word, and I hated myself for it.

“Sebastian will be safe,” Vito said, leaning back in his chair. “When he is back with his family.”

The room went silent, the kind of silence that makes your ears ring. My pulse thudded in my chest, loud enough that I swore everyone could hear it. I wondered if Vito could smell the desperation rolling off me.

Dante leaned forward, his voice cutting through the tension. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re here to talk, to find common ground.”

“Talk, then,” Vito said, his tone cold and dismissive.

Dante launched into our pitch, every word carefully chosen, his tone steady. I tried to listen, to focus, but my mind kept drifting. SJ. Justice. Bash. Skylar. Every name felt like a knife twisting in my gut. Every second felt like a countdown to something I couldn’t stop.

When Dante finished, all eyes turned to Vito. He let the silence stretch, his lips curving into a thin, predatory smile. “This was the easy part,” he said. “Now let’s see how well you handle the real conversation.”

Vito leaned forward, his bony hands clasping together on the table. The movement drew my eyes, and I noticed how thin his fingers were—like the skeletal remains of a man who should’ve died years ago but clung to life through sheer spite. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough weight to silence the room.

“Let’s not waste time,” he said, his words deliberate and sharp. “Justice, Bash, Skylar. Their situation is...precarious. Alive for now, but that could change depending on your cooperation, Hassan.”

My name falling from his lips made my skin crawl. He said it like he owned it, like it was his to twist and play with. My pulse quickened as I forced myself to hold his gaze, my hands balling into fists under the table. “We just want them back,” I said, my voice tight. “You know we’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” Vito repeated, his mouth curling like he was savoring the taste of the words. “Do you even understand what that means? Justice was lucky. A shoulder wound can be fatal if it hits the artery, but our man is skilled. He made sure it was just painful enough to send a message.”

The words hit me like a slap. Justice’s face flashed in my mind—her dark hair matted with blood, her eyes dim with pain. My vision blurred at the edges, and my grip on the table tightened, knuckles straining white. I had to breathe. Steady. Keep steady. Don’t let him see.

“Vito,” Dante said, his tone still smooth, but with a sharper edge now. “We understand the message. There’s no need to elaborate.”

“I think there is. I’m meeting you in person as a courtesy, Moretti, but know this. If you don’t give me my grandson soon, I will kill them all. I will start with Skylar, go on to Bash, and I’ll make Justice watch all of it. And I’ll kill her too—but only after I’ve broken her. You have twenty-four hours. Give me Sebastian, or things will get very nasty. This meeting is over.”

Maybe the meeting was over. But this man had pissed me the fuck off, and as he got up from his shirt brusquely, all I could think was that this had just started.

And Vito De Luca was going to pay.