Chapter 1 - The Venom on the Stone
Dante Sterling did not breathe as he dropped to both knees upon the frozen Italian marble. His tailored navy suit strained against his shoulders, the dark ink coiled across his throat burning hot under the chandeliers. Before him, Atlas—a hundred and thirty pounds of fiercely loyal Cane Corso, a beast that had once torn through three armed assassins to shield Dante’s life—lay completely limp. The great dog’s ribcage remained motionless. Beside the heavy, square jaw sat a clean stainless steel bowl, empty save for a puddle of clear, odorless residue.
Five-year-old Clara knelt opposite him, her soft yellow dress ruffled like petals against the cold stone. In her tiny hands, she clutched a damp white cloth, diligently wiping the dark velvet muzzle of the hound. Her hazel eyes were calm, shielded by the impenetrable innocence of early childhood.
""Fix him,"" Clara whispered again, her voice carrying a fragile tremor through the vaulting arches of the mansion. ""You fix everything, Uncle Dante. Tell Atlas to get up. He won't wake up for breakfast.""
Dante reached out, his calloused fingers sliding down the thick nap of the dog’s neck until his thumb found the pulse point beneath the jaw. Nothing. The flesh was already cooling. As Dante parted the black fur near the mastiff's jugular, his knuckles struck something unnatural: a microscopic puncture mark ringed by an angry circle of bruised purple flesh. Neurotoxin. A precision strike executed in Dante’s private sanctuary.
Behind them, Elena, the housekeeper, stood frozen in the foyer archway, her hands clasped tight over her trembling mouth. Dante did not look back at her when he spoke. His voice dropped into the register that men in the criminal underworld had learned to fear as a death sentence.
""Elena. Who entered this wing after nine o'clock?""
""No one, sir,"" Elena stammered, tears spilling past her wrinkled fingers. ""The security protocols were engaged. The outer perimeter was sealed.""
""A ghost did not inject military-grade venom into my hound, Elena."" Dante stood, his towering frame casting an ominous shadow over the corpse. He turned toward the double mahogany doors, his hand reflexively drifting beneath his jacket toward the holstered Walther PPK. Then, a faint sound made him freeze. Clara was tugging at the cuff of his trousers.
May you like
When Dante looked down, Clara held out her palm. Nestled in her little fingers was a heavy silver cufflink stamped with a serpent crest, stained with fresh blood.
""I picked it up under Atlas's paw,"" Clara said softly. ""It belongs to Uncle Julian.""
