Chapter 9
The absolute silence in the room returned, heavier and more oppressive than before. Dante stood perfectly still, the gold signet ring and the USB drive burning like hot coals in the palm of his tattooed hand. The bright, natural light from the skylights offered no warmth, only a stark, clinical illumination of the betrayal that had compromised his entire empire.
"Uncle Dante," Leo said softly, his American accent tense as he kept his sneaker planted on Marcus’s shoulder. "If Chicago finds out we have the Don's ring... they'll burn the city down to get it back."
"They will not find out from him," Dante replied smoothly.
He slipped the heavy gold ring and the USB drive into the inner pocket of his tailored dark suit jacket. He smoothed the lapels, his broad, masculine chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled rhythm. The charming, romantic strands of wavy hair falling over his forehead framed a face that had completely detached from all human emotion.
"Dr. Emma," Dante commanded, his voice returning to its low, measured cadence.
"Yes, Mr. Bellandi," Dr. Emma answered instantly, standing protectively in front of Lily.
"Wrap my daughter's ankle. Give her whatever she needs for the pain. Then, take her to my private suite in the main lodge. Lock the doors. Do not let anyone inside until I return."
"Understood, sir," Emma nodded, moving quickly to a supply cabinet to retrieve medical wrap and an ice pack.
Dante knelt down one last time, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to Lily’s rosy cheek. "I will be up to see you very soon, little bird. I love you."
"I love you too, Daddy," Lily whispered, clutching her uninjured foot.
Dante stood up and turned his back on the examination bench. He walked slowly across the polished tiles, his leather shoes crunching over the scattered foam pads and shattered plastic from the ruined orthotic cart. He stopped directly over Marcus.
Marcus looked up, his face a swollen, bloody mess of pure terror. "Dante... please. I'm blood. I'm your cousin. You can't kill me without a tribunal."
"You forfeited your blood. The moment you put my daughter in the crosshairs of a cartel," Dante whispered, staring down with cold, sharp, intimidating eyes.
"I'll give you everything!" Marcus begged, sobbing openly. "I have twenty million in a Cayman account! I'll transfer it to you right now! Just let me walk away!"
"Money cannot buy back trust, Marcus," Dante said softly. He looked over at Grant, who was still groaning and clutching his bruised ribs amidst the wreckage of the boot fitting rack. "Grant."
The security associate flinched violently at the sound of his name, terrified he was next. "Y-yes, Boss?"
"You are going to help me clean up this mess," Dante instructed, his volume incredibly low. "If you do exactly as I say, you will live to see tomorrow."
"Anything you want, Boss," Grant gasped, nodding frantically, eager to sell out his former employer to survive.
"Pick him up," Dante commanded, pointing at Marcus.
May you like
Grant scrambled to his feet, ignoring the agonizing pain in his chest, and grabbed Marcus by the collar of his ruined suit, hauling the crying man roughly to his feet.
"Take him to the soundproof holding cells beneath the stables," Dante ordered, his voice echoing coldly in the bright, cinematic room. "Zip-tie him to a chair. I will be down shortly to have a very long, very quiet conversation with my cousin."
