Chapter 5 - THE SILVER ROSARY
The cold steel of Dante’s gun was pressed directly against Isabella’s forehead.
The wind howled off the ocean, whipping her dark hair around her face, but she didn’t flinch. She stared at him with absolute, terrifying confidence.
“Drop the gun, Dante,” Isabella purred. “Or Harper dies. You know I don’t make empty threats.”
Dante’s finger tightened on the trigger. He could kill her right now. It would take a fraction of a second. But if Marco was holding Harper and Leo, shooting Isabella was a death sentence for the only two people Dante had left to protect.
Slowly, agonizingly, Dante lowered his weapon.
He let it drop to the stone patio with a heavy clatter.
Isabella laughed—a bright, triumphant sound that made Dante sick to his stomach.
“Good boy,” she mocked, stepping back. “Now, take out your phone and place it on the table.”
Dante reached into his overcoat and placed the encrypted burner on the glass tabletop.
“Call Marco,” Dante demanded, his voice a low, lethal rumble. “Prove to me they are alive.”
Isabella picked up her own phone, dialing a number with polished, manicured fingers. She put it on speaker and set it next to Dante’s.
“Marco,” Isabella said.
“I’m here, Ms. Romano,” Marco’s gruff voice echoed through the speaker.
Dante’s jaw clenched. Marco had been his head of security for five years. He had trusted him with his life.
“Let him hear them,” Isabella ordered.
There was a brief shuffling sound, followed by the heavy thud of a door opening.
“Dante?” Harper’s voice came through, weak, terrified, but undeniable.
“Harper,” Dante said, stepping closer to the phone. “Are you hurt? Is Leo with you?”
“I’m okay,” she choked out. “Leo is here. They brought us to a warehouse. Dante, please—”
The line muffled as someone pulled the phone away.
“They’re alive, Boss,” Marco said coldly. “For now.”
“Marco,” Dante said, his voice devoid of anger, carrying only a promise of absolute destruction. “If you harm one hair on either of them, I will spend the rest of my life dismantling everything you love.”
“Save the threats, Dante,” Isabella interrupted, ending the call. She picked up her wine glass. “The terms are simple. You will sign the entire corporate structure of the syndicate over to me. All legitimate holdings, the shell companies, and the shipping routes. In exchange, I will let Harper and the boy get on a plane to Europe. They will never return. And you will take a bullet to the head.”
Dante looked at her. “You think the captains will follow you if you kill me?”
“They will follow the money,” Isabella smiled. “They always do.”
She walked over to a heavy wooden chest resting against the stone wall of the patio and pulled out a thick stack of legal documents. She dropped them onto the table next to a gold fountain pen.
“Sign,” she commanded.
Dante looked at the papers. He looked at the silver rosary resting on the stone floor. Harper had worn that rosary every day since Julian died. It was her anchor.
Dante reached out and picked up the gold pen.
He leaned over the table, the wind whipping his coat around his legs.
“You missed one detail, Bella,” Dante said softly, uncapping the pen.
“And what is that?” she asked smugly.
“Marco has been with me for five years,” Dante said, signing the first page with a smooth, fluid stroke. “He’s a mercenary. He goes where the money goes.”
“Exactly,” Isabella agreed. “And I offered him ten million dollars to betray you.”
“I know,” Dante said, signing the second page. “Because Marco told me.”
Isabella frowned. Her smug smile faltered. “What are you talking about?”
Dante stopped signing. He placed the pen carefully on the glass table.
“Did you really think my head of security would take a bribe without running it by me first?” Dante asked, looking up at her with eyes like black ice.
Isabella’s face drained of color. She snatched her phone from the table and frantically hit redial.
It rang once.
“Marco!” Isabella snapped when the line opened. “Report!”
“Perimeter secure, Boss,” Marco’s voice echoed through the speaker.
But he wasn’t talking to Isabella.
“Marco,” Dante said calmly. “Status of the hostages.”
“Hostages are safe, Dante,” Marco replied. “We relocated Harper and the boy to the secondary safe house in Connecticut. The warehouse was a decoy. Your uncle’s loyalists took the bait. We neutralized six of Isabella’s men.”
Isabella stared at the phone in absolute, paralyzed horror.
“No,” she whispered, stepping backward.
“You played a good game, Bella,” Dante said, walking slowly around the table toward her. “But you forgot who taught you how to play.”
Isabella lunged for Dante’s discarded gun on the patio floor.
She was fast, but Dante was faster.
He stepped on her wrist before her fingers could brush the metal, pinning her to the stone. She cried out in pain, glaring up at him with pure hatred.
“You’re finished, Dante!” she screamed. “Even if you kill me, the families know about the boy! They will never stop hunting him! You can’t protect a six-year-old child from the entire American mafia!”
Dante crouched down, retrieving his weapon.
“I don’t have to protect him from them,” Dante said softly, aiming the gun at her chest. “I’m going to make sure there is no one left to hunt him.”
Before Isabella could speak another word, Dante pulled the trigger.
The suppressed gunshot was swallowed by the sound of the crashing waves.
Isabella Romano collapsed onto the stone, her ambition finally silenced.
Dante didn’t stay to watch her bleed. He retrieved his phone, picked up Harper’s silver rosary, and walked back into the darkness.
An hour later, Dante arrived at the secure safe house in Connecticut.
It was a heavily fortified farmhouse tucked into fifty acres of private forest. Marco met him at the door, nodding silently.
Dante walked into the living room.
Harper was sitting on the sofa. She had been treated by a private physician. A fresh bandage covered her eye, and her ribs were wrapped, but she was sitting upright, holding Leo tightly against her chest.
When she saw Dante, she let out a broken sob of relief.
“Dante,” she cried.
Dante walked over, dropping to his knees in front of them. He reached out, gently pressing the silver rosary into her bruised hand.
“I’m sorry,” Dante whispered, his voice cracking for the first time in his life. “I’m so sorry I let them hurt you.”
Harper shook her head, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his.
“We’re safe,” she breathed.
“No,” Dante said, pulling back to look into her good eye. His expression was a terrifying mix of grief and absolute resolve. “You aren’t safe. Isabella was right. As long as Leo is Julian’s son, the other families will hunt him to take control of my throne.”
Harper’s face paled. She pulled Leo closer. “Then what do we do?”
Dante looked at the little boy, who was staring at him with wide, trusting eyes.
“I have to destroy the throne,” Dante said.
Harper gasped. “Dante, you can’t. If you dismantle the syndicate, you lose all your protection. You’ll be a target for the rest of your life.”
“I don’t care about my life,” Dante said softly.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He handed it to Harper.
She unfolded it with trembling fingers.
It was a child’s drawing. It showed a tall man in a dark suit holding hands with a little boy and a woman.
“Leo drew this for me while we were in the car,” Dante said, his voice thick with emotion. “He asked me if I was going to be his new dad.”
Harper covered her mouth, tears spilling over her bandages.
Dante looked at her, the ruthless mafia boss completely stripped away, leaving only a man desperate for a family he never thought he could have.
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“I’m going to end the Moretti syndicate, Harper,” Dante vowed. “And when the dust settles, I’m coming back for you both.”
Before Harper could answer, the front door of the farmhouse violently exploded inward, showering the room in splinters and smoke.
