33. Blood in the Water
Blood in the Water
Dante
The glass shatters against the wall, the sharp crack echoing through the dimly lit room. Shards rain onto the floor, glittering like jagged little reminders of my failure.
My hands tremble with rage, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts as I grip the edge of the desk, trying to steady myself. My knuckles turn white, the tension in my forearms coiling so tightly it feels like I might snap.
I could have ended everything at the warehouse.
I should have.
The image burns into my mind—Damian standing there, right in front of me, completely unaware that his life could have ended in an instant.
My gun was already raised, the barrel aimed just beneath his throat. All it would have taken was a flick of my finger. One pull. One shot. He would’ve been dead.
And yet, here I am, seething, hollow, consumed by the kind of rage that eats away at a man from the inside out.
Instead of watching his lifeless body hit the ground, instead of standing over him with the satisfaction of knowing he would never take another breath, he is still walking. Still breathing. Still taking everything that belongs to me.
And now—he has an heir.
Pregnant.
She’s fucking pregnant.
I slam my fist against the desk, rattling the objects on its surface. This changes everything. If Nichole had simply run off with him, I could have dealt with that.
I would have found a way to eliminate her without it leading back to me. But now? Now she carries a Beretti child. Antonio’s first grandchild.
My stomach churns as I replay Damian’s words.
"For the sake of your grandson. Your future heir."
That son of a bitch.
This is what he wanted. His checkmate. If my father accepts this child, then Damian is no longer just an enemy—he is family. Worse. He is a man who could position himself in the family as something more.
If Antonio decides to bring him in, Damian could take over in my place, at least until the kid comes of age. I will be forced to stand aside while that bastard—that outsider—claims everything that was meant to be mine.
No.
No fucking way.
I won’t let this happen. I refuse.
But it’s not my decision to make. It’s Antonio’s.
I let out a sharp breath, dragging my fingers through my hair. Everything hinges on him. If he chooses to fully embrace this child, to bring Damian into the fold, then I lose everything. My place. My power. My future.
The rage inside me shifts, no longer a fire but something colder, sharper—a blade waiting to be wielded. The solution is right there, standing in front of me, clear as fucking day.
There’s only one way to fix this.
One way to end it all before it begins.
I lift my head, staring at my own reflection in the glass window across the room.
And then, the words come. Cold. Absolute.
“I have to kill my father.”
Damian
For all the time I’ve spent holed up in the safe house with Nichole, wrapped in the quiet seclusion of the woods, it feels good to be back in my own home. My domain.
The moment we step inside, the shift in atmosphere is immediate.
The house is everything the safe house wasn’t—grand, opulent, sprawling.
Dark marble floors gleam under soft lighting, sleek furniture arranged with the precision of a man who values control.
Massive windows stretch across the walls, giving a view of the city below.
Nichole pauses just past the threshold, her gaze sweeping over the space. She’s taking it all in.
I watch as she trails her fingers along the cool marble countertop, her lips parting slightly in awe. "This is where you live?"
I smirk, stepping beside her. "Surprised?"
Her eyes flick toward mine, amusement flashing in them. "I don’t know what I expected, but this…” She gestures around. “This is something else.”
I lean in slightly, my voice dipping lower. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
Her lips curve. “I haven’t decided yet.”
A chuckle rumbles in my chest as I guide her toward the kitchen. The space is sleek and modern, designed with the same meticulous attention to detail as the rest of the house. I pull out a chair for her, but just as she sits, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I check the caller ID. It’s him.
One of my men. My eyes sharpen immediately.
I answer, my voice clipped. "Talk."
His breath is rushed, like he’s moving. "I was outside Dante’s room at the estate. I heard him talking—he said he’s going to kill Antonio."
Everything inside me stills.
Nichole stiffens beside me as she picks up on my reaction, but I don’t say anything yet. My grip on the phone tightens. “You’re sure?”
"Word for word," he confirms. "No hesitation. He said it like a fucking revelation."
A slow breath leaves my lungs, controlled, steady. "Where is Antonio now?"
"In his office. He doesn’t know anything yet."
I don’t waste a second. "Listen carefully. You tell the gate guard that Antonio is expecting me. I don’t care what you have to say to make it happen, but when I get there, that gate better be open."
"Understood."
I hang up.
Nichole is already on her feet, eyes locked onto me, searching for answers. Enzo straightens beside her, sensing the shift.
"What’s going on?" she demands.
I grab my keys, my movements swift, deliberate. "Dante just made his move," I say darkly. "And we’re stopping him before he gets the chance."
Without another word, I storm toward the door. Enzo and Nichole follow, no hesitation.
We need to move.
Now.
Dante
The weight of the decision settles over me like a second skin.
It’s not hesitation. I don’t hesitate.
It’s just... finality.
I exhale slowly, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The rage still lingers in my eyes, dark and smoldering, but beneath it—clarity.
This has to be done.
I reach for the gun on my nightstand, my fingers curling around the grip. It feels solid. Right. I slide it into the waistband of my pants, adjusting my jacket over it.
There’s no turning back after this.
But then again, I never intended to.
Antonio is in his office. That’s where he always is when he’s working through something, when he’s thinking, strategizing.
Good.
That means I won’t have to search for him.
I step toward the door, placing my hand on the knob. For a moment, the world feels eerily still.
Then I twist it, stepping out into the hall.
Each footstep echoes against the polished floors as I move down the corridor. My pulse is steady, my mind clear.
One shot. One moment. And everything changes.
Damian
The tires screech as I swerve between lanes, my foot pressing the gas all the way down. The speedometer soars past 100, the city lights turning into a blur around us.
Nichole’s knuckles are white as she grips the door handle, her breath coming fast. “Damian, slow down—”
“Not a chance.”
The engine roars as I cut between two cars, barely missing them by inches. Horns blare, drivers swerving out of my way.
Enzo curses under his breath in the backseat, his head on a swivel. “We’re gonna have cops on us if you keep this up.”
“Let them try.”
Another sharp turn, another near-miss. I don’t give a damn about anything except getting to Antonio before Dante does.
Nichole presses her hands against the dashboard, her voice tight with panic. “You’re going to get us killed!”
I barely hear her. My eyes stay locked on the road ahead.
Every second counts.
Every red light, every car in my way—they’re just obstacles between me and stopping Dante from putting a bullet in Antonio’s head.
“Move, you son of a—” I slam the horn, swerving around a slow-moving sedan, cutting so close I see the fear in the driver’s eyes.
Enzo hisses through his teeth. “Damian, we’re gonna have company real fast.”
“I don’t care,” I grind out. “We have to get there now.”
Nichole sucks in a breath as we barrel through an intersection, barely dodging a truck that blares its horn in fury.
We’re close. So fucking close.
If we don’t make it—
I don’t finish the thought.
I just floor it.