Chapter 7
The ultimatum echoed through the brilliant, sunlit expanse of the dining room, plunging the atmosphere into a suffocating, icy dread. The bright colors of the room seemed to mock the absolute despair washing over the two traitors. Dante stood immovable, holding his daughter securely, his tailored suit completely unruffled by the violence he had just unleashed.
"Dante, please," Celeste begged, her American accent cracking into a hysterical, breathless whine. She dropped to her knees on the pristine carpet, ignoring the heavy diamond jewelry swinging from her neck. "You can't do this! I am your wife! It was a mistake! He forced me!"
Marcus, coughing up blood near the stone pillar, let out a wet, indignant shout.
"She’s lying!" Marcus wheezed, struggling to push himself up onto his elbows. His fair, rosy face was contorted in agony and sudden, vicious self-preservation. "She came to me! She said you were too old, Dante! She said you neglected her! She seduced me!"
"You bastard!" Celeste shrieked, her tear-filled eyes burning with absolute hatred as she glared at the man she had risked everything for. "You told me you were going to take the throne! You said you would protect me!"
Dante watched the pathetic, immediate collapse of their loyalty with cold, calculating eyes. The moment their lives were threatened, the grand romance they had built in the shadows evaporated, leaving only two desperate, cowardly animals clawing over each other to survive.
"Clear the room," Dante ordered softly.
His lead capo, a hardened veteran standing near the main doors, nodded sharply. "Everyone out. Now."
The white American guests, the capos, and the extended family members did not hesitate. They scrambled toward the exits in a hushed, panicked frenzy, desperate to escape the gravitational pull of the Mafia boss's execution chamber. Within two minutes, the massive dining room was entirely empty, save for Dante, Ava, the two traitors, and the six heavily armed bodyguards forming a perimeter around them.
"Take my daughter to my private suite," Dante instructed, turning to his most trusted lieutenant. He gently kissed Ava’s forehead before handing her over. "Have the nanny stay with her. Lock the blast doors. Do not open them for anyone but me."
"Yes, Boss," the lieutenant murmured, taking the trembling three-year-old and rushing her out of the room.
Once his bloodline was completely secured, Dante slowly turned his full, terrifying attention back to the lovers. He walked over to the head of the mahogany table. He reached into his jacket pocket, his polished leather shoes making a slow, deliberate sound against the floor.
He pulled out a heavy, matte-black semiautomatic pistol.
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With a chilling, casual elegance, Dante placed the weapon directly into the center of the pristine white tablecloth, right between Celeste and Marcus.
"I told you... to choose," Dante whispered into the silent room.
