Page 31 of Dante
Marco's hands clench into fists. "I trusted him with everything. With my sister's safety."
"Now you have a choice," I say, leaning forward. "Continue on your current path: making enemies of everyone, losing your people's loyalty, watching your empire crumble. Or align with me."
He laughs bitterly. "Align with you? You mean surrender."
"I mean survive," I correct him. "Together, our organizations would control everything from the docks to the northern district."
"So that's it," Marco says, looking between us. "You're fucking my sister to secure a business arrangement."
Elena slams her hand on the table. "That's enough, Marco. I'm not some pawn. I made my choice, both to be with Dante and to help broker this alliance."
I smile at her fierceness. "Your sister is right. My interest in her began before any of this. She's not part of the negotiation; she's the reason I'm offering one at all."
Marco looks at his sister, really looks at her. "You're serious about him."
"I am," she confirms. "But I'm also serious about helping you. About stopping this war before it destroys everything."
A long silence follows. Finally, he looks at me directly.
"Pietro dies," he says, his voice hard. "Today."
"Agreed," I nod.
"And I maintain control of my territories, with joint operations at the docks."
"With proper oversight," I stipulate. "No more side deals."
"Fine," he agrees, then looks at his sister. "And you're really choosing this? Him?"
Elena's hand finds mine on the table. "I am."
Marco extends his hand across the table to me. "Partners, Veneziano. For my sister's sake."
I take his hand, sealing the agreement.
The door opens suddenly, Pietro entering without knocking. "Everything alright in here?" He stops short, taking in our clasped hands, Elena's fingers intertwined with mine.
Marco's expression hardens. "Perfect timing, Pietro. We were just discussing loyalty."
Pietro's eyes dart between us, sensing danger. His hand moves toward his jacket, but Franco's appearance in the doorway halts the movement.
"Going somewhere?" Franco asks pleasantly, though there's nothing pleasant about the gun pressed against Pietro's head.
Marco stands, walking to face the man who's betrayed him. "You arranged for my sister to be attacked. You've been stealing from me for years."
"I can explain—"
"No need," Marco interrupts. "I've seen the evidence."
With a nod from me, Franco forces Pietro to his knees.
"Marco, please," Pietro begs. "I raised you. Your father would never—"
"My father would have cut out your tongue before killing you for this betrayal," Marco says coldly.
He looks at me, and I understand the unspoken request. This is his right, but he's asking for my blessing.
I nod once, then turn to Elena. "You don't need to watch this."
