STOLEN REVENGE

Chapter Two: Uneasy Allies

Dante didn't sleep. By sunrise, he had examined the photograph so many times that the edges had begun to curl beneath his fingers. Five men.

Not four. For ten years, he had built his life around a single truth. Now that truth was beginning to c***k. The penthouse was silent except for the rain tapping against the windows.

Across from him sat Valentina Cruz.

The woman who had spent weeks destroying his carefully laid plans for revenge. The woman who somehow knew more about his father's murder than he did. Neither trusted the other. Both knew it. Valentina glanced at the untouched coffee sitting on the table. "You've been staring at that picture for three hours." Dante didn't look up. "Where did you get it?" "You've asked that seven times." "And you haven't answered." "Because the answer isn't important." His eyes lifted. "It is to me."

Valentina leaned back in her chair. "No. What's important is that you're finally asking the right questions." Dante hated her calmness. It felt deliberate. As if she enjoyed getting under his skin. "What makes you so certain Marco Bellini is alive?" "Because I saw him." The words landed heavily between them. Dante's expression hardened. "When?" "Six months ago." His pulse quickened. "Where?" "Buenos Aires." "You're sure?"

Valentina laughed softly. "I don't spend ten years chasing ghosts just to mistake one for someone else." Silence settled over the room. Then Dante stood abruptly. His chair scraped against the floor. "I need proof." Valentina smiled. "There he is." "What?" "The mafia prince." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "The man who needs evidence before he moves."Dante stepped closer. "And you're different?" "I set a trap." "What trap?" Her smile faded. The answer came quietly. "I killed his friends." That shut him up.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The reality of what she had done settled between them. Three men dead. Not random enemies. Men she had hunted for a decade. Men she believed had destroyed her family. Dante studied her carefully. Most killers he knew enjoyed violence. Valentina didn't. There was no pride in her eyes. No excitement.

Only exhaustion. The kind that came from carrying pain for far too long.

"You didn't enjoy it." Her gaze flickered toward him. "No." "Then why keep going?" A bitter smile touched her lips. "Because dead people don't come back." The answer surprised him. It wasn't cold.

It wasn't cruel. It was honest. Too honest. For the first time, Dante saw something beyond her confidence. Loneliness. The same loneliness he carried.

Later that afternoon, Sofia arrived.

She found Dante and Valentina sitting across from one another at the dining table. Neither looked happy. Sofia immediately grinned. "Oh, this is interesting." Valentina raised an eyebrow. "Who is she?" "My sister," Dante said."The normal one." "I heard that." Sofia walked into the room and extended her hand. Valentina shook it. "Sofia Moretti."

"Valentina Cruz." Sofia looked between them. "You two have the chemistry of a hostage negotiation."

Neither responded. "Definitely chemistry." Dante groaned. Valentina laughed. The sound caught him off guard. Again. He hated how much he noticed it.

Three hours later, they were reviewing old files. Boxes filled the library. Documents. Financial records. Police reports. Anything connected to the night their fathers died. Rain continued to pound against the windows. Valentina sat on the floor, surrounded by folders. Dante worked at the desk. Hours passed. Neither found anything.

Finally, Valentina threw a file aside.

"Your father kept terrible records." "My father ran a criminal empire." "Exactly." She pointed to a stack of papers. "Look at this." Dante frowned. "What?" "Three pages describing imported wine." "So?" "Then nothing about a million-dollar shipment." His eyes narrowed. Valentina tapped the folder. "Someone removed information." Dante moved beside her. Their shoulders brushed. A small thing.

Meaningless. Yet neither moved away immediately. Valentina felt it. So did he.

The awareness lingered. Dangerous.

Unexpected. Unwanted. She cleared her throat first. "Someone cleaned these files." Dante forced his attention back to the documents. "Marco." "Exactly." For the first time all day, they agreed completely.

That evening, another surprise arrived. A package. No return address. No sender. One of Dante's guards carried it into the penthouse.

Everyone froze. Valentina stood. "Don't open it." The guard stopped immediately. Dante looked at her. "You think it's a bomb?" "No." "What then?" She walked closer. Her expression suddenly serious. "I think it's a message." The package was small. Wrapped neatly. Almost carefully. Like a gift. Valentina slowly opened it. Inside sat an old pocket watch. Nothing else. No note.

No explanation.

Dante's face immediately darkened.

Valentina noticed. "You recognize it." "Yes." His voice was tight. Too tight. "Whose is it?" Dante picked up the watch. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. Then he did. "It belonged to my father." The room fell silent. Valentina's stomach twisted. That wasn't possible. The watch had supposedly been buried with him. Someone had access to things that should no longer exist. Someone wanted Dante to know it. Slowly, she turned the watch over. An engraving covered the back. Two words. YOU'RE LATE.

Nobody spoke. The message was clear. Marco Bellini wasn't hiding.

He was watching. And he wanted them to know it. That night, Valentina stood alone on the balcony.

The city stretched endlessly below. Lights. Traffic. Noise. Life. She barely noticed any of it. Ten years.

Ten years chasing answers. Ten years chasing revenge. Now she was closer than ever. So why did it feel different? The balcony door opened.

Dante stepped outside. Neither spoke immediately. He stood beside her. Not too close. Not too far.

After a while, he said quietly, "When I was twenty-four, I thought revenge would fix everything." Valentina stared ahead. "It doesn't." "No." She laughed softly. "No, it doesn't." The rain had stopped. A cool breeze drifted through the city. Dante looked toward her. For once, there was no anger. No suspicion. Just honesty.

"What happened to your father?" The question lingered. Valentina swallowed. She rarely talked about it. Never willingly. But something about the darkness made it easier. "He worked for your father." Dante turned sharply. "What?" "My father handled shipments." Silence. "He wasn't mafia." "He worked for my family." "He handled logistics." "Same thing." Valentina smiled faintly. "Maybe."

Her gaze drifted downward. "He found something he shouldn't have."

"What?" "I don't know." Dante frowned. "You never found out?" "No." The admission still hurt. Even now. "One night, he kissed my forehead and said he'd be home for dinner." Her voice trembled slightly.

The memory remained painfully sharp. "He never came back." Dante listened quietly. "No body?" "No." His expression darkened. Neither of them needed to say it. Sometimes nobody was worse. Because hope never completely died.

A phone suddenly rang. Both froze.

It wasn't Dante's. It wasn't Valentina's. The sound came from inside the package. The box. The one containing the watch. Dante rushed inside. Valentina followed. Everyone stared. The ringing continued. Hidden beneath the package lining sat a cellphone. A burner phone. New. Untraceable. Still ringing. Dante picked it up. The room went silent. Slowly, he answered. "Who is this?" For several seconds, there was only static.

Then a man's voice. Older. Calm. Amused. A voice Dante hadn't heard in ten years. "Good evening, Dante."

The color drained from his face. Valentina knew instantly. Marco Bellini. Alive. Real. And calling them directly. Marco chuckled softly.

"I see you've finally met Valentina."

Neither moved. Neither breathed. Marco continued. "I've been waiting a very long time for the two of you to find each other."

The line went dead. The room remained silent. And for the first time, both Dante and Valentina realized something terrifying. They weren't hunting Marco Bellini. Marco Bellini had been leading them exactly where he wanted them to go.