STOLEN REVENGE

Chapter One :The First Name on the List The man was supposed to die tonight. Dante Moretti had spent six months preparing. Six months tracking schedules. Six months bribing guards. Six months arranging a clean escape route. Now he stood across the street from a private club in downtown Chicago, watching his first target through the tinted windows. Vittorio Leone. One of the four men responsible for his father's murder. Ten years. Ten years of waiting. Ten years of planning. Tonight, it finally began. A voice crackled through his earpiece. "Target is still inside." Dante checked his watch. 11:43 p.m. Right on schedule. "Everyone stay in position." His men acknowledged. Across the street, the club doors opened. Vittorio emerged, laughing. Two bodyguards followed close behind. Dante's hand tightened around the steering wheel. Finally. The bodyguards escorted Vittorio toward a black SUV. Then everything changed. The vehicle exploded. A deafening blast shattered the night. Flames shot twenty feet into the air. People screamed. Glass rained across the street. Dante froze. The SUV burned fiercely. One bodyguard lay motionless on the pavement. The second staggered away, engulfed in flames. Vittorio Leone was dead. And Dante hadn't touched him. "What the hell?" His men shouted over the radio. But Dante wasn't listening. Because taped to a nearby streetlight was a single white card. A card that definitely hadn't been there ten minutes earlier. He crossed the street as police sirens echoed in the distance. The card contained only three words: ONE DOWN. THREE LEFT. No signature. No explanation. But someone had known. Someone had known about his target. Someone had beaten him to it. Dante slipped the card into his pocket. For the first time in years, revenge no longer felt under his control. Three nights later, another target died. Not by Dante's hand. Again. Alessandro Ricci. Poisoned. Found dead in his penthouse. Another card. TWO DOWN. TWO LEFT. Dante smashed a whiskey glass against the wall.The room fell silent. His closest advisers exchanged nervous glances.Sofia leaned against the doorway. "You've broken six glasses this week."Dante ignored her. "Someone is hunting my targets." "Maybe they're helping." "They're stealing from me."Sofia sighed. "Normal people don't get possessive about revenge." "I'm not normal." "No argument there." For the first time, a reluctant smile touched his face. Then it disappeared. A guard entered the room. "We found something." Dante looked up. "What?" The guard placed a photograph on the desk. Security footage. Grainy. Blurry. A woman. Dark hair. A baseball cap. Leaving Ricci's building thirty minutes before his death. Dante stared at the image. Something about her posture. The confidence. The calmness. No panic. No hesitation. Whoever she was, she'd done this before. Sofia looked over his shoulder. "She's pretty." Dante gave her a look. "What?" "I'm just saying." "I don't care what she looks like." "Sure." The third target died two weeks later. This time, Dante was waiting. Watching. Prepared. Determined to finally catch the ghost destroying his plans. A luxury yacht drifted through the harbor. His target was aboard. So was the woman. Dante finally saw her clearly. Black dress. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. She moved through the crowd as though she belonged there. No fear. No urgency. Just certainty. She slipped something into the target's champagne. Then walked away. Simple. Elegant. Deadly. Dante followed. She reached the dock. A black motorcycle waited nearby. Before she could climb on, Dante stepped from the shadows. She stopped. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city lights reflected off the water behind them. The woman studied him carefully. Then sighed. "You're earlier than I expected." Dante blinked. "You know who I am?" "Of course I do. "Her voice was calm. Annoyingly calm. "I've been expecting you for weeks." "You killed my targets." "My targets?" She laughed. The sound irritated him immediately. "That's the first thing you're upset about?" "You've spent months interfering with my plans." "And you've spent ten years moving too slowly." Dante's jaw tightened. The woman crossed her arms. "Are you going to shoot me?" "Maybe." "Then do it." Silence. The challenge hung between them. Neither moved. Neither looked away. Finally, she smiled. Small. Dangerous. "You won't." "Why?" "Because you need answers." Dante hated that she was right. "Who are you?" The smile disappeared. For the first time, genuine emotion flickered across her face. Pain. Old pain. Buried pain. "My name is Valentina Cruz." The name meant nothing. Until she spoke again. "My father died the same night yours did." Everything stopped. The harbor. The noise. The anger. All of it. Gone. Dante stared. Valentina's eyes never left his. "There were five men involved in that murder." Dante's pulse accelerated. "No." "There were." "You don't know what you're talking about." "I know exactly what I'm talking about." She reached into her jacket. Dante instantly drew his gun. She rolled her eyes. "Relax." Slowly, she handed him a photograph. Old. Faded. Dante looked down. His blood turned cold. Five men stood in the picture. Not four. Five. And the fifth face belonged to someone Dante knew. Someone he trusted. Someone impossible. Someone who should have been dead. Marco Bellini. His father's former consigliere. The man buried ten years ago. Dante looked up sharply. "That's impossible." Valentina's expression hardened. "No." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "It's the reason both our fathers are dead." And for the first time in ten years, Dante realized he had been hunting the wrong enemies.