Chapter 4
1039 Words
DANTE
I stepped into my quarters and shut the door behind me.
Silence settled in, thick and familiar. This part of the building was mine, away from the noise, away from the hostages, away from the men who think they know what they're doing. I set my gun on the table and ran a hand through my hair in frustration.
Everything was supposed to happen now.
I leaned both palms against the desk and exhaled, jaw tightening.
The meeting with Khal had been postponed.
Two months.
Two months longer than I had planned.
The bastard claims it's "logistics." Security concerns. New routes. New precautions. All excuses. Khal never moves unless it benefits him and right now, he's stalling.
That delay costs me more than patience.
It costs time.
I straightened and grabbed the file marked The Virelli Syndicate, flipping it open. Khal's name stared back at me like a challenge. Like a promise I intended to keep, after all these years, after all the hurt he put me through, he needed to pay.
Khal Virelli.
My stepbrother.
Leader of the Virelli Syndicate.
The man everyone whispered about and no one challenges. The kind of power that doesn't need to announce itself, because by the time you hear his name, it's already too late.
He killed my sister, Livia, with his own bare hands.
He didn't hesitate.
Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong blood.
He tried to kill me too, except I didn't die.
Family meant nothing to Khal. Power meant everything. I am a Virelli too, but I buried that name a long time ago. I go by Dante Wood now, a nobody, exactly how I wanted it.
I joined the Black Veil because it was the only way in. The only path close enough to the Virelli syndicate without raising suspicion. I let them believe I was loyal. Let them believe I was ruthless. Let them believe I was theirs.
The black veil group was subject to the Virelli, we did most of their dirty work.
Khal had no clue that I was still alive, I doubt he even remembered me. I've stood in the same room as him once, close enough to kill him, but he never even looked twice.
Good.
That ignorance would be his downfall.
I didn't blame him though, I was different now, bigger, tattooed and definitely meaner.
Working for the Black Veil means there is no such thing as rest.
My name was on the rotation lists. My signature was on transfer orders. Men report to me before they report to the head. I oversee intake, discipline, and compliance, make sure shipments arrive intact, make sure hostages don't disappear.
Tonight is no different.
I skimed through the latest reports on my desk, new arrivals logged, weapons inventory updated, patrol routes reassigned. The mafia house runs like a machine, and I am one of its trusted gears. They believe in efficiency. They believe in loyalty.
Byron is the leader of Black Veil, the one I answer to. I had gained his trust also, which meant my plans were working smoothly. But I hated his guts, he was the most disgusting and brutal man I'd ever met, I could take him in one swing but I had to lay low.
About ten new hostages were brought in today.
Ten young girls.
A routine for this place. Another shipment. Another transaction waiting to happen. Another pending sale to Khal.
I hated that part the most.
Number five was mine to watch over.
Aria.
She couldn't be more than twenty four years old, so young and full of life.
I hadn't expected her to try to escape.
Most of them don't. They cry, they beg and they go quiet. Fear strips them down faster than chains ever could.
But she fought. Tried to run.Tried to survive.
My jaw tightened as I recalled the earlier encounter of the day.
I had hit her, albeit out of anger. The way her body went limp afterwards was horrifying.
I hate that I had to do that.
I hate that I ever have to lay a hand on anyone, unless they truly deserve it.
I don't hit women. Not out of habit. Not for sport like some of the men here do. Violence is a tool, not pleasure and even then, it's one I avoid when I can but most times, I just couldn’t.
A knock cut through my thoughts.
"Come in," I said, shoving the file back into the drawer and locking it.
The door opened and Tristan stepped inside, shutting it behind him with his foot.
Tristan was the only man I could consider a friend here, although I wasn't trying to be friendly with anyone but he had been the most welcoming when I joined the group. He knew about my plan to take down Khal and bring an end to both mafia gangs and he had laid low about it. Just like me, he hated it here but he was forced into this life.
He looked tired. We all did.
"They've increased night rotations," he says, leaning against the wall instead of sitting. "Byron's paranoid. Think someone's been sloppy."
"They're talking about moving the hostages again," he continued. "Different wing. Tighter lockups. Fewer eyes. Especially the new ones."
"Any reason for that?" I inquired.
He shrugged.
Tristan studied me for a moment, his gaze sharp but not suspicious. Concern, maybe. He's always been too observant for this place.
"You okay?" he asked. "You've been... off since the meeting got pushed."
Off. If only he knew.
"I'm fine," I lie easily. " I just don't like delays."
"No one does," he says. Then, quieter, "This place eats people alive, Dante. Don't let it eat you too."
I huff a breath that might almost be a laugh. "You're the wrong man to preach morality in hell."
"Someone has to try," he replies.
Silence stretched between us. He nodded once, satisfied enough, then moved for the door.
"Oh and Number five?" he adds casually, hand on the handle. "Word is that she tried to run."
I stiffened.
"She won't try again," I said.
Not a threat. A fact.
Tristan hesitated, then nodded. "Good night, man."
The door clicked shut behind him.
- Writer
