Chapter 4 Dante
DANTE
Istand in the shadows between two shipping containers at the port breathing in the stench of diesel fuel and rotting fish while I watch three men unload crates from a truck parked fifty meters away.
They have no clue that my latest intel suggests that these very men may be responsible for hijacking the shipment from the Turks meant for me, and I'm here to shed light on the fact that I know this.
Rico stands to my left with his weapon drawn.
Enzo's positioned on the other side of the truck.
Luca waits in the car at the entrance to cut off any escape routes, while Marco covers the rear.
We've been tracking these men for three days since one of my contacts gave me their names.
They work for a smaller operation that's been moving product through my territory without permission, and the timing matches the missing shipment too perfectly to be coincidence.
I signal to Rico.
He nods and moves forward and I follow close behind, keeping low and quiet.
The men at the truck don't notice us until we're ten feet away, and by then, it's too late.
"Nobody move," I say, holding my gun up, ready to shoot.
But these men are stupid, and their risk-taking has just gotten them caught.
The closest man spins toward me and reaches for his waistband.
I fire twice before his hand can even pull his jacket back.
The first bullet hits his shoulder and spins him backward.
The second catches him in the chest.
He drops to the pavement and doesn't get up.
The other two men scatter.
One runs toward the water, but Enzo steps out from behind the truck and fires.
The man goes down hard, clutching his leg and screaming.
The third man pulls a gun and fires wildly in my direction with horrible aim thanks to his adrenaline.
The shots go wide, and I walk forward and put a bullet between his eyes and watch him collapse in a heap.
Rico moves to the man on the ground who's still alive.
The one with the leg wound.
He's young, maybe twenty-five, with blood spreading across his jeans in a dark stain that pools under his body.
He tries to crawl away, but Rico kicks him onto his back and plants a boot on his chest.
"Don't move," Rico says.
I walk over and crouch down beside the man.
He looks up at me with wide eyes.
His face is pale and slick with sweat.
He knows who I am.
Everyone at the port knows who I am.
If I weren't here to collect information, I'd just end this asshole too, but I need some answers first.
So I press my boot to the injury on his knee, making him scream out in pain just to prove a point.
I'm not a merciful man.
"You're going to answer my questions," I say. "If you lie, you die slowly. If you tell the truth, you die fast. Understand?"
He nods.
His breathing comes in short gasps as he clutches his leg just above where my boot presses.
"Where's my shipment?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he grunts.
I pull my knife from my belt and press the blade against his knee.
He screams before I even apply pressure.
"Try again," I say.
"Okay, okay. We moved it.” He's being hasty now, giving up secrets easily. Whoever his boss is won't be happy with him. "We were paid to intercept it before it reached your people in Bari."
"Who paid you?"
"I don't know his name. I swear. Fuck!" He's writhing, face twisted into a grimace. "We just got a call with instructions and half the money up front."
I press the blade harder, probably taking too much pleasure in this.
He screams again and tries to twist away, but Rico holds him in place.
"You're lying," I say.
"I'm not. I swear on my mother's life. We never met him. It was all done through a contact. Some guy who works for a bigger operation in the city."
"What operation?"
"I don't know. I swear I don't know."
I study his face carefully, but I'm not getting any tells that he's not being genuine.
He's telling the truth now.
Fear has stripped away any ability to lie convincingly.
I stand and look at Rico.
"He's no use to us," I tell him and watch as Rico fires once.
The man's head snaps back and his body goes limp.
Blood pools beneath him and spreads across the concrete.
I walk to the truck and open the back.
The crates inside are marked with shipping codes that match legitimate cargo, but I know what's really inside.
I pull out my phone and call Marco because this is too much for me to handle on my own with just these three.
He answers right away, and I speak before he can greet me.
"Get someone down here to move this product to the warehouse. Make sure it's off the books. I want it processed and distributed within forty-eight hours."
"Understood," Marco grunts, and I end the call and look around the port.
Three bodies lie on the ground.
The truck sits idling with its cargo exposed.
This is a message to whoever is moving against me.
This is what happens when you steal from Dante Santonelli.
But it's not enough.
The shipment from Istanbul is still missing.
This was just a small operation trying to capitalize on the chaos.
The real threat is still out there, someone with enough resources and connections to intercept a major shipment and use it as leverage.
Someone who knows about Angelica and Sofia and decided to send them to my door.
Gerard is the most likely suspect.
He has the reach and the motivation.
Six years ago, I took Angelica from him.
I paid her debt and walked out of his club like he was nothing.
He never forgot that.
Men like Antonelli do not forget insults.
They wait for the right moment to strike back.
If he took the shipment and sent Angelica to me, he's playing a longer game than I gave him credit for.
He's trying to destroy my alliance with Kemal while simultaneously exposing my weakness.
And he wants me to know nothing stays a secret for long.
He's probably pushing to make the Turks talk so my entire empire turns against me.
The problem is that it's working.
I leave the port and Luca drives me back to the villa.
My mind races through every possible scenario that might happen and the plays I may be forced to make.
I can't burn bridges, and I'm starting to hate my decisions as much as I hate my enemies.
But hating what I've done in the past won't save me from the consequences.
Only fighting to keep my hold on the reins will do that.
And now I have a daughter I didn't know existed and a woman I can't stop thinking about locked in my guest room.
By the time I reach the villa, it's almost dawn.
The streets are empty except for a few cars passing through the intersection.
Christmas lights blink on every corner.
We pull through the gates and park in the driveway.
My shirt is stained with blood.
Not mine.
The fabric sticks to my skin in places where the blood has dried.
I need to shower and change before anyone sees me like this.
But when I walk through the front door, I hear voices coming from the kitchen.
I move quietly down the hallway and stop at the entrance.
Marta stands at the counter with a kettle on the stove.
Sofia sits at the table with a mug of something hot in front of her, and Angelica stands behind her daughter with her hands on the girl's shoulders.
Sofia coughs, a rough sound that rattles in her chest.
Marta turns and hands her a spoonful of honey.
"This will help, piccola," Marta says. Her voice is gentle. "Just one more spoonful and then you can go back to bed."
Sofia takes the honey and makes a face.
She swallows it and coughs again.
Angelica rubs her back and murmurs something I can't hear.
It's a touching sight and one that wraps around my chest and adds more pressure.
Such tenderness between mother and child.
Something I never had growing up.
Then Sofia looks up and sees me standing in the doorway.
Her eyes go wide.
She shrinks back against her mother and doesn't say anything.
I step into the kitchen slowly so I don't startle her further.
Marta notices me and her expression shifts to concern when she sees the blood on my shirt.
I shake my head slightly to tell her not to say anything.
"Is she sick?" I ask.
Angelica tenses.
She pulls Sofia closer and meets my gaze with defiance. "She has a cough. Nothing serious."
"Has she seen a doctor?"
"Not yet. We only just got here, remember? Besides, it's the middle of the night."
Her tone is sharp and I don't care for the look on her face, but I ignore it and look at Marta.
"Call Silvio in the morning. Have him come check on her."
Marta nods. "Of course."
I turn my attention back to Sofia.
She's small and fragile-looking in a way that makes me want to protect her.
She has my eyes—the same dark brown that I see in the mirror every morning, the same shape.
There's no question that she is mine.
"What's your name?" I ask.
She doesn't answer.
She buries her face against Angelica's side and refuses to look at me.
"You know her name," Angelica says in a cold tone. "And she's tired and scared. Leave her alone."
I don't leave.
I walk to the table and crouch down so I'm at eye level with the girl.
She peeks at me from behind her mother's arm.
I keep my expression neutral and my voice calm.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I say. "You're safe here."
She doesn't respond, but she doesn't hide either.
She watches me with cautious curiosity.
"Do you like the Christmas tree?" I ask.
She nods slowly. "It's pretty," she whispers.
"My housekeeper put it up," I say. "I don't usually decorate for Christmas. But she insisted."
"Why not?" Sofia asks. Her voice is small and hesitant.
"Because I'm usually too busy. And I don't have anyone to decorate for."
"That's sad," she says.
It strikes me that a child so young can understand something so complex.
It is sad… very sad that I have no one to share all of this with, and I've never thought of it once until this precious babe mentioned it.
But Angelica glares on, hating me with her eyes.
"Marta, take Sofia back to the guest room," I say. "Make sure she has everything she needs."
Marta moves forward and holds out her hand.