Chapter 5 - The Executioner's Test
"Dante... please," Isabella stammered, her hands shaking so violently she had to grip the edge of the mahogany table just to stay standing. "I... I only drink white wine with dinner. You know that."
"Drink the red wine, Isabella," Dante repeated, the cinematic realism of his absolute, freezing calm paralyzing the entire room.
"I won't!" she shrieked, knocking the crystal glass over. The dark red wine spilled across the white tablecloth, looking exactly like the blood staining my apron.
Her refusal was the ultimate, undeniable confession.
Carlo panicked. Realizing the silent coup had completely failed, the older cartel boss drew a heavy, suppressed handgun from his grey suit jacket, aiming it directly at Dante’s back.
"Kill him!" Carlo roared to the four corrupt guards standing near the dining room doors.
But Dante didn't even flinch. He didn't duck. He didn't reach for his own weapon.
Before Carlo’s finger could even twitch on the trigger, the large, decorative white floral centerpieces on the table were violently shoved aside.
Three of Dante’s elite, fiercely loyal syndicate enforcers—who had been perfectly disguised as wealthy dinner guests the entire night—drew their weapons with blinding, flawless precision.
Click. Click. Click.
Three laser sights appeared directly on Carlo’s forehead and the chests of his corrupt guards.
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Dante had never been a fool. He knew there was a rat in his house; he just hadn't known exactly whose bed the rat was sleeping in.
👉 Dante turned to face the men who had planned his funeral, and the financial ruin he unleashed would destroy their souls.
