The private room slowly came back to life after Dante’s departure, but the air was no longer light. Conversations resumed in hushed fragments, voices layered with disbelief and unease.
“That man is terrifying,” someone whispered shakily. “I still can’t believe what we just witnessed.”
“Ivan Cleef himself showed up for him,” another murmured. “And Enzo Bellandi. Do you even understand who that is?”
The name alone carried weight. A general whose presence was rarely announced, whose reputation lived in rumors and sealed reports. And he had stood there, saluting Dante like it was instinct.
Harson dragged a hand down his face, his voice hoarse. “We all thought he was finished. Just an ex convict who survived prison by luck. But that… that wasn’t luck.”
Zain said nothing. He sat rigid, jaw
