Dante
I’ve known Antonio long enough to recognize when he’s lying. Old business. He got a message from Draco, but he’s not going to tell me what it was. Instead of arguing with him and wasting time, I let him walk away. But the second his back is turned I grab my gear and follow. If he thinks I’m going to let my best friend, my brother, handle this alone, he’s dead wrong.
I tail him, keeping my distance as he heads toward the docks to an abandoned warehouse. The place reeks of a trap, but I hold back and watch him disappear inside. My instincts scream at me to follow, but I know Antonio. He’s got his own game to play, and if I storm in too early, I’ll ruin it.
Once he’s disappeared, I slip in behind him and find a yellowed paper on the floor, the hand-scrawled note barely legible. With my gun drawn, I move deeper, down the narrow steps that lead into twisting tunnels beneath the city.
Voices drift up ahead. I slink through the damp passageways, trying to stay hidden in the shadows. Every step is a calculated risk, and the deeper I go, the more distinct the voices become. I’m close.
Suddenly, behind me, the unmistakable sound of footsteps. My pulse spikes. Someone else is here and they’re close. Ducking around a corner, I press my back against the cold, slick stone wall, hoping to vanish into the darkness.
Crack!
The gunshot is deafening in the tight space, the bullet whizzing past my head and slamming into the wall behind me.
“Shit,” I hiss, diving behind an old support beam, squeezing off a shot of my own. There’s a grunt, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the floor. One of Draco’s men.
I have no time to breathe as more footsteps echo through the tunnel. Another figure sprints toward me, gun raised. He fires, missing me by only inches. I charge after him, blood pumping, adrenaline taking over. Shots ring out, bouncing off the walls as I chase him down.
Another round—closer this time. I duck, firing off two more shots. One finds its mark. The man stumbles, clutching his side before collapsing onto the stone. His body twitches once, then goes still.
Not knowing how many more men are down here, I don’t slow down. As I round the next corner, that’s when I see him.
Draco Moretti.
He’s slinking through the catacomb-like tunnels like the rat he is, trying to escape. My body reacts before my mind can. I fire. The shot is precise, hitting him in the leg. He crumples to the ground with a pained groan, clutching his bleeding thigh.
With my gun raised, I stalk toward him. He reaches for his weapon, but I kick it away, sending it skittering across the stone. Grabbing him by the collar, I drag him to the nearest wall and slam him against it. His breath comes out in sharp, wheezing gasps, pain and rage battling in his eyes. But still—arrogance. He thinks he’s in control.
“I figured you’d show up,” he spits, his voice strained but smug.
I press my gun to his temple, leaning in close. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish I hadn’t.”
* * *
“Make him suffer, ,” Antonio’s voice is venom, pure and raw. “Make sure he suffers and then burns in hell.”
“He will,” I promise, and then disconnect the call.
Draco’s bloodshot eyes narrow, even as blood trickles down his temple. “You talk big, but we’re the same. You kill, just like I do,” he rasps, the words laced with bitterness.
I tighten my grip on his throat, cutting off his breath, my voice low and seething. “The difference is,” I growl, yanking my knife from its sheath, the cold steel gleaming in the dim light, “I protect my family. You betrayed yours.” I press the blade to his side, dragging it across his skin, slow and deliberate.
“You think that makes you better than me?” His eyes gleam with twisted satisfaction as he winces through the pain.
“Better than you?” I repeat, my voice low, dangerous. “Killing you isn’t about being better. It’s about making sure you never hurt anyone again.”
His smirk falters, just for a second, but it’s enough. I squeeze his throat harder, savoring the way his bloodshot eyes widen in panic.
Draco’s breath rasps as blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, but that sickening grin never falters. “Tell me, ? Are you fucking her too? Is that why you’re here? Two men fighting over a whore who’s only good for spreading her legs.” He chuckles, dark and cruel. “I do have one regret,” he leans in, his breath hot and rancid. “I should’ve fucked her myself. Now I’ll never know what the fuss is about.”
Before I even realize it, my fist crashes into his face, the sickening crack of bone echoing through the tunnel. Draco grunts, blood spurting from his broken nose, but the bastard still grins through the pain.
“You filthy piece of shit,” I snarl, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him harder against the wall. “Your only regret is not raping your daughter.” Draco gasps, his breath coming in ragged bursts as I squeeze tighter, watching the life drain from his bloodshot eyes.
“You want to talk about regrets, Draco?” I growl, pressing the cold steel of the knife to his cheek, my voice low and venomous.
Without waiting for a response, I drag the blade across his face in one swift motion. Blood wells from the cut, spilling down his skin as his body flinches in pain, but he stays silent, refusing to give me the satisfaction of his screams. I keep him pinned, watching the blood trickle down his face.
“You’re not going to die quick,” I whisper, leaning in close. “You’ll suffer for everything you did to her.”
Draco’s laugh is a sick, guttural sound, a mix of blood and cruelty. “Did she tell you her little secret? Hmm? Did she tell you she was carrying my grandchild?”
The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a second, the air is sucked from my lungs. He’s lying. He has to be. But the way his eyes light up tells me there’s some truth in his twisted words.
“But I took care of it. With any luck, they’re both dead by now.”
“You sick bastard,” I roar, as I slam the knife into his shoulder, the blade driving deep. This time, Draco screams, the sound sharp and guttural as I twist the knife, savoring the agony etched on his face.
“You killed your own grandchild?” I snarl, my breath ragged with anger. “You tortured your daughter, left her to die, and now you’ve got the nerve to laugh about it?”
“I never wanted Alessia. You think I care about some bastard grandchild?” His laughter turns to a wheeze, mocking and breathless. “Whose baby is it? Antonio’s? Yours? Or some other bastards?”
I can barely see through the red haze clouding my vision. Without thinking, I yank the knife from his shoulder and slam it into his leg, twisting it viciously. His scream tears through the air, raw and ragged.
“You sick, twisted fuck,” I snarl. “You have no right to even speak her name.”
Draco’s face contorts with pain, but that sneer still clings to his lips. I tighten my grip on the knife. “You think your poison can change who she is? You’ll never touch what’s good in her. That’s something you’ll never understand.”
I rip the knife out, blood spilling onto the cold stone floor. Draco barely has time to gasp before I grab his hand, yanking it forward and forcing his trembling fingers to splay out on the ground.
"Antonio should be here for this," I snarl, pinning his hand under my boot. "He should be the one to tear you apart for what you did to his wife and child, but since he can’t, I’ll make sure you suffer for both of them."
Draco’s sneer falters as I raise the knife again and slam the blade down into his hand, severing two fingers.
"Let’s see how much leverage you have without these." I kick the severed digits aside, watching them roll into the growing pool of blood at his feet.
Without hesitation, I drive the blade deep into his chest, grinding it against the bone. Draco’s body convulses, agony contorting his features. His breath comes in ragged, shallow gasps. I twist the blade harder until it catches against bone. “You’re nothing but a monster," I growl through clenched teeth. "And monsters don’t deserve to live."
The blade sticks, lodged against his ribs. I pull hard, feeling the sickening crack of bone breaking beneath the pressure. Draco lets out a choked scream, his body jerking violently as I wrench the blade free. The wet, sickening sound of metal leaving flesh fills the space. I sit back on my heels and watch the blood flow faster now soaking through his clothes.
The crimson liquid puddles at his feet, a macabre painting of Draco’s undoing. His body trembles as his life slowly slips away. His unfocused gaze meets mine and for a moment I see fear creeping in. The realization that death is not far off.
Around us, the shadows close in as if even the darkness itself knows death is near.
I lean in, my voice barely above a whisper. “The pit waits for you, Draco. There’s no escaping it. You’ll fall, just like the rest of us. But you’ll fall alone.”
He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a gurgle of blood. I grab him by the hair, yanking his head back, exposing his throat. “This is for Alessia,” I whisper, before dragging the blade across his neck in one swift, brutal motion.
Blood gushes from the wound. Draco’s breaths come in ragged gasps
And I know he knows.
In those final moments I see it. The desperate need. The fear.
He’s lost. Not just his life—everything. Alessia, the power he craved, even his own legacy.
With my grip steady on the knife, I watch him die.
There’s no satisfaction in it. Only cold, final justice.