that emotion vanished instantly.
“Seraphina.”
He answered.
His voice softened.
On the other end of the line, her voice was choked with sobs.
“Dante, about my brother…”
“I’ve already made him turn himself in to the committee.”
“Can you help me?”
Dante closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his temples.
As if handling a mundane family matter.
“Don’t worry.”
“Your brother is my brother.”
“I’ll handle things with the committee.”
“It’ll be fine.”
His tone was calm.
But it was tantamount to a verdict.
The next day.
Dante Valente woke up on the sofa.
Last night, he sat alone in the living room of the brownstone house.
The light was on.
He'd only drunk half his whiskey.
The documents on the table were untouched.
He did nothing, only glancing at the clock on the wall every now and then.
As if waiting for someone.
But that person never returned.
He didn't fall asleep on the sofa until the early hours of the morning.
When he got up, his movements hesitated for a moment.
His gaze swept over the entryway.
The slippers were there, neatly arranged.
Immaculate.
As if no one had ever worn them.
Dante's face instantly darkened.
He stood there for a few seconds.
Then he took out his phone.
For the first time.
He messaged me.
[Adriana, if you don't want to come back, then never come back.] His tone was cold and hard, without a trace of hesitation.
I stood beside him, looking at the message, and couldn't help but laugh.
A silent laugh.
"Don't worry."
"I'll never come back."
Dante didn't look at his phone again.
He washed up and changed.
A black suit, tie impeccably tailored.
Perfect as always.
As if last night's wait had never happened.
The car started.
Heading towards the city center.
Heading towards his world.
—The headquarters of the Valente-Falcone Alliance.
On the surface, it was a law firm, an arbitration body, a business consulting firm.
In reality, it was the central nervous system of two major families in Avar.
Behind every contract was a gun barrel.
Every arbitration was a matter of life and death.
And Dante was one of the rule-makers here.
He had just sat down.
The door was knocked.
Then he pushed the door open.
Seraphine Morano walked in.
She was pale, her eyes red-rimmed.
She carried a stack of documents.
Like a woman driven to desperation.
“Dante…only you can help me.”
Her voice trembled.
Dante almost immediately stood up and helped her to a chair.
The movement was as natural as instinct.
“Speak.”
He took the documents.
He opened them.