10. Back to Reality #2
Even as I went through the motions, as my mind calculated every possible scenario, every risk, every counterplay—the pull was still there. A weight I couldn’t shake.
Nichole.
I clenched my jaw, forcing the thought back into the depths of my mind. Not now. This wasn’t the time. It couldn’t be.
And yet—the Dream Room called to me like a whispered promise, a lingering temptation just beneath the surface of my reality. Would she be waiting if I closed my eyes? Would I find her again? Or would the dream keep her just out of reach?
Damn it.
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling as I pushed through the noise in my head. One thing at a time. One war at a time. That was the only way I had survived this long.
We arrived at the Beretti stronghold in silence, moving like ghosts through the night. The warehouse was an old shipping hub on the docks—neutral ground, or at least it had been once. Now, it was Dante’s new playground.
He thought he was making moves in the shadows. He didn’t realize I owned the darkness he was hiding in.
Enzo and I moved into position as my men fanned out. The comms in my earpiece crackled to life.
“All exits covered. No one gets out.”
Perfect.
I signaled, and just like that, the operation was in motion.
Inside, Dante sat at the head of a table, flanked by two of his captains. He was laughing, smug, leaning back in his chair like he had already won.
He had no idea he was already dead.
I stepped into the room, slow, controlled. The moment my presence registered, the air shifted. Conversations died, bodies tensed, hands twitched toward weapons. But no one moved. Not yet.
Dante’s smirk wavered just slightly before he forced it back into place. “Well, well,” he mused, spreading his arms. “If it isn’t Damian LaCampanella himself.” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge beneath it—uncertainty, maybe even fear.
I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You made a mistake.”
Dante leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Did I?”
My gaze stayed locked on his, unreadable. “You aligned yourself with the wrong people. You moved too fast. And now…” I tilted my head slightly. “You’re out of time.”
The room was silent, tension coiling like a live wire, ready to snap.
And then the first shot rang out.
Chaos exploded around me in an instant. Chairs scraped against concrete, men scrambled for weapons, and Dante’s smug expression twisted into something far less confident.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. I moved.
Enzo was already taking out one of Dante’s men, a clean, precise shot to the chest dropping him instantly. The rest of my men swarmed the space, moving with lethal efficiency, cutting off any chance of escape.
Dante scrambled back, his chair tipping over as he reached for his gun. I was faster.
Before he could aim, I had him by the collar, slamming him against the nearest wall.
His head cracked against the concrete, a strangled curse leaving his lips as his weapon slipped from his grasp. It clattered to the floor, forgotten.
I pressed my forearm against his throat, just enough pressure to make his breath hitch, to let him feel how close he was to the edge. His pulse hammered beneath my grip, wild and erratic.
“Still feeling cocky?” I murmured, my voice dangerously calm.
Dante struggled, his hands grasping at my arm, but I didn’t budge.
“You think you can just waltz in and take what’s mine?” I continued, my grip tightening. “That you can make moves behind my back and walk away unscathed?”
His teeth clenched. His breath came in short, labored bursts. But his eyes—those arrogant, reckless eyes—still held defiance.
“You can kill me,” he rasped, a flicker of a smirk forming, “but it won’t stop what’s coming.”
I stilled.
A beat of silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
“What did you just say?”
Dante coughed, his lips curling despite the pressure against his windpipe. “You think you’re winning this war, LaCampanella?” He gave a sharp, breathless laugh. “You’re already losing.”
A slow, dark fury coiled in my gut.
I loosened my grip just enough for him to gasp in air, then slammed him back against the wall. His head snapped to the side, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
“Explain.” My voice was pure ice.
Dante’s laughter was weaker now, edged with pain, but he still had the nerve to grin. “You’re watching the wrong battlefield.”
The weight of his words settled like a lead weight in my chest.
Something shifted in the air.
I felt it.
A wrongness, a crack in the foundation of the war I thought I was controlling.
I stepped back, my grip releasing just enough for Dante to sag against the wall, coughing. My men were finishing off the last of his crew, the gunfire fading into silence.
Enzo approached, wiping a smear of blood from his knuckles. “What do you want to do with him?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Dante’s words ran through my mind, repeating like a haunting refrain.
"You’re watching the wrong battlefield."
I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders before turning to Enzo.
“Take him,” I said finally. “Lock him up. We’re going to find out exactly what he knows.”