Chapter 9
The interior of the Romano estate offered a quiet, luxurious refuge from the chaotic spectacle of the courtyard. The bright, cinematic lighting streamed through the massive skylights, illuminating the polished marble floors and rich mahogany accents. Dante guided his children into the secure residential wing, his dark three-piece suit contrasting with the bright, airy corridors.
"Maria," Dante called out softly as they approached the children's suites.
A young, fair-skinned estate maid hurried forward, her eyes wide with concern. "Yes, Mr. Romano?"
"Draw a warm bath for Mia and help Leo get changed into fresh clothes," Dante instructed, his deep voice calm and measured. "Stay with them in the playroom. Do not let anyone else inside."
"Right away, sir," Maria nodded, gently taking Mia’s hand and ushering the children into their rooms.
Once the heavy oak doors clicked shut, securing his bloodline, Dante’s demeanor shifted. The warm, protective father retreated, and the cold, calculating tactician of the syndicate took absolute command. He walked purposefully down the hallway toward his private study, a highly secured room lined with leather-bound books and heavy, bulletproof glass.
Three of his most senior capos, men who had stood on the perimeter during the incident, were already waiting for him inside. They wore professional dark suits, their expressions grim.
Dante walked behind his massive desk, but he did not sit. He poured two fingers of bourbon from a crystal decanter, the ice clinking softly in the quiet room. He took a slow sip, his cold, intimidating eyes fixing on the men before him.
"Javier has always been a jealous, pathetic drunk," Dante began, his voice a low, vibrating hum that commanded total silence. "But he has never been suicidal. To openly attack the heir to this family in broad daylight, in front of the entire syndicate... requires a level of arrogance he does not naturally possess."
"You think he had backing, Boss?" Marcus, a broad-shouldered capo, asked, his American accent tense.
"I think," Dante murmured, the controlled pauses emphasizing his lethal intellect, "that a coward only acts... when he believes... he has a safety net. Someone whispered in his ear. Someone told him that if he humiliated my bloodline, they would support a challenge to my leadership."
The capos exchanged dark, furious glances. A challenge to the throne meant an internal war.
"We seized his phone before he left the property," another capo reported, placing a sleek black device on Dante's desk. "Our tech guys cracked it five minutes ago. You were right, Dante. He has been exchanging encrypted messages for the past three weeks."
Dante set his glass down. He reached out with his tattooed hand and picked up the phone. His sharp, cold eyes scanned the decrypted texts glowing on the bright screen. The fair, rosy skin of his face set into a mask of pure, unadulterated stone.
"Who is it?" Marcus asked quietly.
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"The Chicago outfit," Dante whispered, the name dropping into the room like a death sentence. "They promised Javier control of the southern ports if he proved I was too weak to control my own family."
The room fell dead silent. The Chicago syndicate was a massive, ruthless organization. If they were actively recruiting traitors within Dante's inner circle, a full-scale war was already upon them.
