Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
Dante and Marcus walked silently down the grand marble corridor.
As they reached the heavy mahogany doors of the west wing, Dante stopped. He turned to face his most trusted underboss. The cinematic realism of Dante’s absolute, terrifying calm made the air in the hallway drop ten degrees.
"You've been with me for fifteen years, Marcus," Dante said softly.
"Since the beginning, Boss," Marcus nodded, though a bead of cold sweat formed on his temple.
Dante slowly pushed the heavy double doors open.
Instead of a dark, empty hallway, the lights were blazing. Standing at the very end of the corridor, holding Dante’s loaded handgun, was Elena.
All the color violently drained from Marcus’s face. He physically staggered backward, his tailored grey suit suddenly feeling like a straightjacket. He looked at the "dead" wife, then slowly turned his head to look at Dante.
Dante didn't yell. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply stared at the traitor with pitch-black, demonic eyes.
"Boss, I can explain," Marcus stammered, his voice cracking with pure, humiliating panic as he raised his hands defensively. "The Miami cartel... they paid me to keep her hidden! They said if you grieved, you would be easier to control! I was protecting your empire!"
"You kept my wife in a cage," Dante growled, his voice a low, vibrating whisper that echoed off the marble walls.
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Marcus realized negotiations were useless. Driven by pure desperation, he reached inside his grey suit for his own weapon.
👉 Marcus wasn't fast enough, and Dante was about to deliver a brutal, permanent severance.
