10. Back to Reality #3
Dante’s smirk faltered for the first time.
Good.
This war wasn’t over.
It was just beginning.
Hours passed, each one stretching into the next as Dante sat bound to the chair, his once-smug expression now smeared with blood and exhaustion.
He had taken his beatings in silence, never breaking, never giving up a single name, a single plan, a single shred of information I could use.
He wanted to be a martyr. I wanted him to beg.
I stood against the cold concrete pillar, arms crossed, watching him through the dim haze of the warehouse.
He was slouched forward, wrists bound behind him, the chair’s legs uneven from the last blow he took.
My men waited around us, silent and watchful, waiting for my word to end this or prolong his suffering.
Dante lifted his head slightly, blinking through the haze of blood and sweat, and somehow, even now, he smirked.
“That all you got?” His voice was hoarse, but the arrogance was still there, clinging like a disease.
Enzo’s fists clenched, his body tense, ready to strike, but I lifted a hand, stopping him. Not yet.
Then, my phone rang.
The sharp sound cut through the silence, reverberating against the warehouse walls. I let it ring, let the moment stretch, let Dante sit with the knowledge that someone on the other end was watching over him. Finally, I pulled the phone from my pocket and glanced at the screen.
Antonio Beretti.
A slow smirk tugged at my lips as I answered, bringing the phone to my ear but saying nothing.
"You have my son."
Not a question. A statement. A threat wrapped in steel.
My grip on the phone tightened slightly, but my voice remained calm. “Do I?”
A beat of silence passed before Antonio exhaled slowly, the sound deliberate. “You’re about to cross a line, LaCampanella. One you won’t be able to come back from.”
I met Dante’s gaze across the room. He heard it. He knew. I let the moment sink in before I responded. “I think we both crossed that line a long time ago.”
“I am offering you an out,” Antonio said, his voice steady, unyielding. “You let my son go, and we end this. A ceasefire. No retaliation.”
A quiet laugh escaped me. “No retaliation? And I’m just supposed to take your word for that?”
“I may be a bastard, but I’m not a liar,” Antonio countered. “Unlike my son, I know when to cut my losses. We keep this going, and we both lose too much.”
I stopped pacing, jaw tightening. Antonio knew what I knew—this war had reached the point where neither side could afford to keep bleeding. If we continued, there would be nothing left standing. Still, I had expected demands, ultimatums, not an offer of peace.
I turned back to Dante, watching as his posture shifted. He hadn’t expected this. He thought his father would let him rot, thought Antonio would see him as collateral damage.
I let the silence stretch, dragging out the moment, watching as realization crept into Dante’s features. Then, finally, I smirked. “Fine,” I said, exhaling slowly. “Come pick up your boy.”
I hung up before he could respond.
The room remained still, the air thick with something unspoken. Dante shifted slightly in his chair, breathing unevenly. “That’s it?” His voice was tight, controlled, but I heard the strain beneath it.
I stepped toward him, crouching until we were eye level. “That’s it.”
His throat bobbed in a swallow, his fists clenching behind him, but he said nothing. He was trying to mask it, to pretend this wasn’t humiliation burning under his skin, but I saw the truth.
Leaning in slightly, my voice dipped into a murmur. “Saved by daddy.”
His jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grind.
“You put on a good show,” I continued, my smirk widening. “Took your beatings like a man. Sat in this chair, bleeding, acting like nothing could break you.” I tilted my head, watching his face twist. “But in the end, you weren’t the one who got you out of this.”
The vein in his temple ticked. His shoulders went rigid.
I exhaled a short chuckle, standing to my full height. “That’s gotta sting, doesn’t it?” My voice was light, mocking. “All that talk, all that bravado, and when it came down to it? You weren’t the one to make a move. Your father had to come clean up your mess.”
Dante stared up at me, hatred burning in his eyes.
“If it were me?” I continued, voice dropping lower. “I would have let you rot.”
Then I laughed.
A deep, slow, taunting sound that filled the empty warehouse and seeped into every crack in Dante’s fragile ego. His fists twitched behind him, his breath shuddering slightly, but there was nothing he could do.
I gestured for my men to cut him loose, and when they did, he stumbled forward, barely catching himself before he fell. He wiped the blood from his mouth, standing stiffly, his entire body coiled with rage and something else—something he would never admit to. Shame.
I watched him for a moment, let him feel it, let him drown in it.
“Get the fuck out of my sight.”
Dante didn’t look back as he left.
But I knew this wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.