Chapter 8
The heavy pistol rested on the white linen like a venomous serpent. The bright, cinematic chandelier light gleamed off the metallic barrel. Celeste and Marcus stared at the weapon, their eyes wide with unadulterated, paralyzing horror. The rules of Dante’s game were sickeningly clear.
"You have until midnight," Dante stated, pulling out his heavy gold wristwatch and checking the time. It was eleven-thirty. "If neither of you makes a decision... you both die. Slowly."
He pulled his heavy leather chair out from the head of the table and sat down. He crossed his legs, leaning back into the expensive upholstery. He rested his hands on the armrests, his face a mask of cold, flawless granite. He was preparing to watch a play he had already written the ending to.
"Dante, brother, please," Marcus sobbed, trying to crawl across the carpet toward the table. His shattered ribs screamed in protest, but the primal fear of death drove him forward. "We share the same blood! You can't make me do this!"
"You stopped being my blood... the second you unbuttoned your shirt in my home," Dante replied, his voice a dead, emotionless void.
"I am the mother of your child!" Celeste screamed, scrambling toward the table from the opposite side. Her sapphire gown dragged heavily across the floor. "Ava needs me! You cannot orphan your own daughter!"
"Ava needs a mother," Dante corrected her softly, his intimidating eyes narrowing. "Not a whore... who leaves evidence of her treason... where a child can find it."
Celeste reached the edge of the mahogany table. She pulled herself up, her manicured hands gripping the polished wood. She looked at the pistol resting just a few feet out of her reach. Then, she looked down at Marcus, who was struggling to pull himself up on the opposite side of the table.
The look that passed between them was no longer one of fear, but of pure, calculated murder.
"It was his idea to use the offshore accounts," Celeste suddenly blurted out, her voice dropping into a desperate, rapid cadence. She looked directly at Dante. "He wasn't just sleeping with me, Dante! He was moving capital! He was planning a coup! If you let me live, I will show you the ledgers! I will give you the names of the capos who pledged to him!"
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"You bitch!" Marcus roared, spitting blood onto the carpet as he finally managed to stand, leaning heavily against the table. "I didn't move a dime without your signature! You are the one who forged Dante's name on the transfer documents!"
Dante sat perfectly still, listening to them entirely dismantle the last remnants of their dignity. The bright video colors of the room felt like a grotesque spotlight on human depravity. They were giving him exactly what he wanted: the entire scope of the conspiracy, freely offered in a desperate bid for survival.
