Page 1 of Dante
Chapter 1 - Dante
Blood stains are a bitch to get out of Italian silk.
I stare at the crimson droplets on my pristine white shirt cuff with mild annoyance as my soldier, Franco, continues working over the man tied to the chair in my office. The wet sound of knuckles meeting flesh echoes through the room, followed by a whimper.
"I think he's ready to talk now, Boss," Franco says, stepping back and wiping his hands on a cloth.
I rise from my desk, buttoning my suit jacket to cover the stained shirt. The man in the chair—one of my own people, until an hour ago—can barely lift his head. But when I step in front of him, his good eye (the other one's swollen shut) widens with fear.
Good. Fear is useful.
"Let's try this again, Michael." I keep my voice soft, almost gentle. It's more frightening that way. "Who approached you about the shipment schedules?"
"P-please, Mr. Veneziano..." Blood dribbles from his split lip. "They'll kill my family."
"I'm going to kill your family if you don't answer me." I crouch down to his eye level, letting him see the truth of it in my eyes. "The difference is, I can make it quick. Painless. They won't suffer. But if you continue to waste my time..." I let the sentence hang.
He breaks. They always do.
"It was Pietro," he sobs. "Marco Rossi's right hand. Said they'd pay triple what you do and protect my family from any... consequences."
I straighten, adjusting my cuffs. "There are always consequences, Michael. Always." I turn to Franco. "Make it quick, like I promised."
Michael's protests turn to screams as I walk out, but I don't look back. In our world, mercy is just another word for weakness.
"Sir," Raphael meets me in the hallway, "your meeting with Marco Rossi is in thirty minutes."
"Have someone bring me a fresh shirt to the car." I check my Rolex. "And make sure everything's in place at Club Veleno."
The drive to the club gives me time to process this new information. The Rossi’s are getting desperate, trying to steal my people, making deals with the Chinese. The question is why. Their territory is stable, their business profitable. Unless...
"Raphael," I call to the front seat, "get me everything on the Rossi family's finances for the past six months. Something's not adding up."
Club Veleno sits like a glittering jewel in the heart of the city's entertainment district. Officially, it's neutral territory—a place where business can be conducted without bloodshed. Unofficially, the owner pays protection to both families, which amounts to the same thing.
The club's security detail nods respectfully as we enter through the private entrance. Music throbs through the walls, but it's muted in the exclusive upper level where meetings like this take place. Red velvet wallpaper and dark wood paneling give the space an old-world elegance that appeals to men like us who deal in modern-day savagery.
Marco Rossi is already there, trying to establish dominance through punctuality. He stands as I enter, and I take my time assessing him. He's younger than me by a few years, barelythirty, and it shows in the way he carries himself. Too eager to prove something, too quick to take offense. His father was different. Giuseppe Rossi understood the delicate balance of power, the importance of appearance over action.
"Dante." Marco gestures to the leather armchair across from him. "Drink?"
I accept the offered whiskey but don't drink it. The heavy scent of cigars fills the private room as I study him, noting the slight sheen of sweat at his temples, the way his fingers tap restlessly on the armrest.
He's nervous. He should be.
"You're asking for quite a lot," Marco finally says after I lay out my terms, tapping his cigar on the crystal ashtray. Grey ash falls like snow, scattering across the pristine surface. "That part of the docks have been Rossi territory for three generations."
"I'm not asking." My voice remains calm, almost pleasant, but there's steel underneath. There's always steel underneath. "I'm informing you of how things will be moving forward."
I watch Pietro shift behind his boss's chair, remembering Michael's confession. The right-hand man's loyalty is already compromised. Another piece of the puzzle.
"The Rossi family has always been reasonable," I continue, adjusting my cuff to hide the lingering anger from earlier. "Your father understood the importance of cooperation. Of... evolution."
Marco's eyes blink at the mention of his recently deceased father. "My father was weak in his final years. Made too many concessions."
"Your father was wise." I lean forward slightly, dropping my foot to the floor. The leather creaks softly beneath me. "Heunderstood that peace is profitable. War?" I shake my head slowly. "War is expensive, Marco. In every way that matters."
"Is that a threat, Veneziano?" His voice sharpens.
