Chapter 26 Dante
DANTE
The body camera feed flickers on my phone screen.
Two couriers and a tech move through the tunnel system.
Their headlamps cut narrow beams through the darkness and I watch from the back of the surveillance van parked three blocks from the port decoy site.
My jaw is tight as they navigate the cramped passageway.
It should be me.
I should be the one down there and I'm not.
I'm up here sitting in a van like a child waiting on his parents to return from the store, feeling like a waste of space, but this is what I promised Angelica.
I am not going to put myself into unnecessary danger because I have a little girl to come home to now.
I won’t do to her what happened to me.
"Twenty meters to the first junction," the tech reports through his mic.
His voice crackles with static.
I didn't even send any of my close men in either.
I know how risky this is, and I know just how hard it is to vet new men to my inner circle.
They don't like it, but my word is law.
And with things shifting for me at home, I've come to see the wisdom in letting hirelings take the grunt work.
I tap the screen to switch between camera angles.
The tunnel walls are old brick, slick with condensation and decades of grime.
The air down there has to be rancid.
I can almost smell it through the feed—mold and rust and rat droppings.
"Copy that," Enzo says from beside me.
He monitors a separate tablet showing the topside unit positioned near the exit point. "Unit three is in position. No movement on the street."
The couriers carry the product in reinforced duffel bags strapped across their chests.
Five kilos for each of them.
Enough to satisfy Kemal and prove the route works without risking the entire operation.
If this goes sideways, we lose a micro-load and four men—containable losses.
But if it succeeds, Kemal gets his proof that I can deliver, and the Turks stay loyal when Antonelli makes his move.
"Second junction ahead," the tech announces.
I lean closer to the screen.
The tunnel branches in three directions.
After taking a moment to ensure the men are safely on the way to the drop site where Kemal waits for us, I glance at my phone and see a text message.
Rico 2:17 AM: Decoy site clear. Port authority bought the distraction.
I type back.
Dante 2:18 AM: Stay on it until they're topside.
Setting up the drop through my public channels sent word through whatever sources Antonelli has nailed down that I’m doing business again.
He's intercepted every shipment for months, and my hope is by being very vocal about this shipment, I'll draw him and his friends inside the polizia to that location, giving us time to finish this move underground.
Without this route, we'd have been stopped on the highway already and my couriers would be interrogated and imprisoned.
"Third junction coming up," the tech says, and it's staticky. I can barely understand them, though the camera feed is still sending out signals.
I watch them turn right at the alcove.
The camera catches the outline of a collapsed archway that's been shored up with beams and crates.
So the collapse wasn't entirely a lie, and Angelica was right to assume that Gerard would never let these tunnels go.
It's safer to push this stuff outside the city limits and then load a truck than to load up and try to drive it out. Wiser too.
"Ten meters to the exit ladder," the tech confirms.
Enzo checks the topside feed on his tablet and reports, "Unit three has a visual on the hatch. Street's still empty."
I exhale slowly. We're close.
Five more minutes and the Turks get their product.
Kemal's interpreter will confirm delivery, and I'll have one less knife aimed at my throat.
The couriers reach the ladder.
The first one climbs, his camera jerking with each movement.
Metal rungs flash in the headlamp beam.
He reaches the top and pushes the hatch open, and I watch as his breath fogs around the lens with every exhale into the cold night air.
The camera adjusts to the ambient light—streetlamps, a few lit windows, the dark outline of parked cars.
"Clear," the first courier whispers.
They emerge one by one and the tech comes up last, closing the hatch behind him.
The topside unit moves in from their position half a block down.
Four men in civilian clothes, faces obscured by scarves and low caps, converge on the couriers, and for a moment, the cameras show nothing but quick hand signals and synchronized movement.
The van pulls up—white paneling, Parish of San Giovanni logo on the side, license plates registered to a catering company we own through three shell corporations.
The driver stays behind the wheel while one of the unit opens the rear doors.
The couriers load the duffels and no words are exchanged, then the unit pulls back, and the van drives off at a leisurely pace—no rush, no reason for anyone to look twice.
"Package en route to destination," Enzo reports. He's already tracking the van on GPS. "ETA twelve minutes."
I check the time, ready to sign off and call this a success when I hear someone swearing.
"Fuck." The tech's voice cuts through the comms with a sharp, panicked tone.
I snap my attention back to the body cam feeds.
The topside unit is moving fast now.
The cameras show them breaking into a run.
"What's happening?" I demand.
"Contact," one of the unit leaders says, his breath ragged. "Multiple hostiles. East side of the street."
Gunfire erupts through the speakers.
I see muzzle flashes on the feed, the camera lurching as the wearer ducks behind a parked car.
And I hear shouting in Italian—voices I don't recognize.
"Antonelli's men," Enzo growls as he scowls at the monitors, but there's not much we can do from here. "They followed them through the tunnels."
My blood turns to ice. "How many?"
"At least six. Maybe more."
The body cameras show chaos.
My men return fire, the sharp crack of pistols echoing through the quiet neighborhood.
Windows shatter and car alarms scream.
One of the couriers goes down, his camera feed tilting sideways as he hits the pavement, and yet it continues streaming in high def 4K like nothing is wrong.
"Get them out of there," I order, standing to press a hand to my forehead.
"Unit three, fall back," Enzo barks into his mic. "Disengage and extract. Now."
But the feed shows no clean exit.
Antonelli's men have them pinned down.
Two of my guys are behind a sedan, one crouched near a storefront.
The tech is on the ground, his camera showing only the underside of a car and the flicker of distant streetlights.
Then there's more gunfire and one of my men screams.
The camera spins, catching a glimpse of blood on the asphalt before the feed goes dark.
"Lost unit three-two," Enzo says in a tight voice.
I grip the tablet in my hand so hard the screen cracks and start cursing myself for not going in alone.
These are my men, dying to fight my war for me. "Get the others out."
The remaining cameras show my men scrambling.
One of them grabs the tech and hauls him to his feet.
They sprint toward a side alley, bullets chewing up the concrete behind them, but the courier who went down first isn't moving.
His camera feed is still live, but the angle is wrong—sky and streetlamp and the edge of a curb.
"Unit three-four is down," Enzo confirms. "No vitals on his tracker."
Fuck.
The surviving members of the unit disappear into the alley.
The cameras show narrow walls, dumpsters, the distant glow of another street.
Behind them, Antonelli's men are shouting.
I hear footsteps pounding on pavement, but my guys have a lead.
"Northeast exit," Enzo directs them. "Two blocks ahead. Extraction vehicle waiting."
I watch the feed in silence while the cameras bounce with each step.
My pulse hammers in my ears.
One man dead, another hit, and Antonelli knows we used his tunnels.
The unit reaches the extraction vehicle and they pile in, the cameras showing the interior for a brief moment before the doors slam shut.
The engine roars, and the vehicle peels out.
"They're clear," Enzo says, turning to look up at me. "Make sure you're not followed," he orders them, but I don't respond.
My focus stays on the abandoned camera feed.
The courier's body cam is still transmitting.
I can see his hand in the frame now, twitching on the pavement.
Blood pools around his fingers as they dance in what's most assuredly a seizure brought on by lack of oxygen to his brain.
"Kill the feed," I tell Enzo, but I don’t have to say it again.
He reaches over and kills the camera feed, and the screen goes dark.
I lean back in my seat and close my eyes.
Losing a man is never easy, especially when you're doing such a delicate operation like this.
But knowing how close it came to being me or even Angelica, who insisted I let her be a part…
This is too dangerous, getting too risky to keep fucking around with.
I need to put an end to this immediately.
My phone buzzes and I get another text from Rico from back home in the war room where he's camped out to keep a home base.
Rico 2:45 AM: Turks confirmed delivery. Kemal is satisfied.
I read it twice.
The shipment made it.
The Turks are happy.
We bought ourselves time.
But the cost is sitting in my stomach.
Men had to die tonight to make this happen for me, and I won't let that sacrifice be taken lightly.
Enzo closes his tablet.
"We need to move. Antonelli's men will be gone before the police arrive, but we can't risk being spotted nearby."
I nod. "Get us back to the villa."
The driver starts the engine and we pull out of the side street and merge into late-night traffic.
I have to figure out how to inform that courier's wife that he's not coming home and somehow not let Angelica know just how dangerous it got tonight, because she wants this to be over now, but I already know Gerard isn't backing down.
And it's confirmed when my phone buzzes again.
This time, it's a message from an unknown number.
Unknown 2:56 AM: You think you're clever, Santonelli? Tunnels won't save you. I own you now.
I stare at the screen with a continued sense of rage.
If we don't contain him, he's going to find a way to kill me and tear down my organization piece by piece.
He can't separate me from Kemal and his allies now, but he can still leak the intel on the skimming and if that gets out, I'll still be crippled, even with Kemal on my side.
I need a way to eliminate him—fast.
The villa gates open as we approach.
The SUV pulls into the driveway, and I'm out of the vehicle before it fully stops.
Enzo follows me toward the house, but I veer left, heading for the side entrance that leads to the garage.
The extraction team arrives ten minutes later, though I hear the rumble of their vehicle before I see it.
The garage door lifts, and the black SUV rolls inside.
The door closes behind them, sealing us in to have some privacy.
The men file out, the tech first, his face pale and streaked with grime.
Then the two surviving members of the topside unit.
One of them—Luca—clutches his shoulder, blood seeping through his jacket.
The other, a younger guy whose name I don't remember, looks shaken but unharmed.
I turn to Enzo as soon as I see the blood and bark, "Get Silvio here. Now."
Enzo pulls out his phone and makes the call while I move closer to Luca, inspecting the wound.
The bullet tore through the outer edge of his shoulder—it’s messy but not fatal.
He'll need stitches and antibiotics, but he'll survive.
"Sit," I tell him, pointing to a workbench along the wall.
He obeys without argument while I grab a clean rag from a shelf and press it against the wound.
He hisses through his teeth but doesn't pull away.
"Gerard's men were waiting," Luca says. "Someone had to have tipped them off, Boss."
"I know."
"How?"
I don't answer, because I don't have one.
Either Antonelli has someone inside my organization or he's been watching us closer than I realized.
Either option is a problem.
The tech leans against the SUV, his hands shaking.
"They came out of nowhere. We checked the tunnel behind us. There was no one."
"They were ahead of you," I say. "Waiting at the exit behind some dumpsters or something."
"But how did they—"
"Doesn't matter right now." I cut him off. "What matters is they know we used the tunnels. Which means we can't use them again."
We've earned Kemal's trust, but barely, and we still have the problem of Gerard standing between us and our shipping routes, along with new knowledge that he undoubtedly has someone working for him who knows my secrets.
Enzo ends his call.
"Silvio's on his way. He'll be here in twenty minutes."
I release the pressure on Luca's shoulder and step back.
Blood has soaked through the rag, but the bleeding is slowing.
I'm sure he'll make it, but it looks messy.
As I turn to try to find the old bottle of vodka I have stashed out here to ease my shaking hands, the garage door to the main house opens.
I expect Rico.
Instead, Angelica steps through.
She freezes when she sees the blood.
Her eyes move from Luca to the tech to the SUV streaked with grime from the tunnels.
Then they land on me.
"Holy…" she breathes, and I'm on her, pushing her back through the door and into the house before she can say another word.