Dante
The east wing had grown too quiet. Three heavy doors sealed shut, three brothers inside, each cuffed and waiting. Guards lined the corridor, their rifles steady, but the tension in the air was worse than any gunmetal.
One of them stepped forward. “Boss. Marco wants to talk. He says he needs to speak with Dom.”
Matteo lifted his brows, flicking ash onto the stone floor. “That should be entertaining.”
Adriano stopped pacing, eyes burning. “Do it. Let’s see what this bastard really wants.”
I studied the door a long moment, then nodded once. “Set it up. Secure line. Speaker on.”
Marco sat in the same rigid posture as always, but something about him had shifted. His jaw was tight, his cuffs rattling faintly as his fists flexed against them. He looked up only when the phone was
