Chapter 4 - The Dead Queen
To understand the absolute, volcanic terror consuming Dante’s mind, you had to understand the history of the west wing.
Two years ago, Dante’s beautiful wife, Elena, had been tragically killed in a massive house fire at their previous estate. The police, the fire investigators, and the rival cartels all confirmed that she had perished in the master bedroom before Dante could reach her.
Devastated by grief, Dante had purchased this new mansion and completely sealed off the west wing, declaring it a memorial. No one was allowed to enter. No staff, no bodyguards, no exceptions.
Dante stared at Sophia, his mind violently short-circuiting.
"Sophia, honey," Dante said, his voice trembling slightly. "There is no lady in the west wing. The doors are locked from the outside."
"No, they aren't," Sophia smiled, shaking her head. "The bad man in the grey suit unlocked it this morning to give her food. I sneaked in when he wasn't looking."
Dante’s blood turned to absolute, freezing ice.
The only person in the entire Chicago syndicate who wore a tailored grey suit every single day was Marcus—Dante’s most trusted right-hand man, his underboss, and the man who had supposedly "tried" to save Elena from the fire two years ago.
"What did the lady look like, Sophia?" Dante asked, his voice dropping into a dark, demonic whisper.
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"She has pretty blonde hair," Sophia replied, twisting a button on her pink dress. "And a big burn scar on her arm."
👉 The impossible reality crashed down on the mafia boss, and the ruthless executioner officially woke up.
