Chapter 2 - Blood on the Monogram
Dante stared down at the silver viper etched into the metal. The serpent bore an emerald eye, catching the amber light of the foyer chandelier. It was one of only two pairs ever forged by the jeweler in Milan—the heirloom belonging to Julian Vance, Dante’s sworn blood brother and second-in-command of the Syndicate.
""Clara,"" Dante said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he gently closed her small fingers over the cufflink. ""Give that to me. And go upstairs with Elena. Now.""
""Is Atlas going to sleep in my room tonight?"" Clara asked, her voice small and bewildered.
""Not tonight, little bird,"" Dante murmured, gently guiding her away from the fallen giant. He signaled Elena with a sharp nod. The housekeeper scooped the child into her arms and hurried up the curving staircase, her shoes tapping frantically against the marble until a heavy oak door clicked shut on the third floor.
Dante was left alone in the vast, echoing foyer with the dead guardian. He knelt beside Atlas once more and unclipped the thick tactical collar. The dog had been more than a weapon; Atlas had guarded Dante’s late sister during the syndicate wars, and before she died, she had made Atlas Clara’s personal protector. As Dante turned the heavy leather strap over, his jaw hardened into stone. The interior pocket of the collar, where a encrypted emergency tracking beacon was always sewn, had been cleanly sliced open with a scalpel. The transmitter was gone.
Footsteps echoed from the exterior courtyard. Heavy, deliberate, accompanied by the metallic click of an assault rifle being slung over a shoulder.
The grand front doors swung inward. Julian stepped across the threshold, his black trench coat glistening with fresh rain, his dark hair slicked back from the storm outside.
""Dante,"" Julian said, his eyes scanning the cavernous room before landing squarely on the corpse of the mastiff. He feigned a look of sudden dismay, stepping forward quickly. ""My god. The men said there was an emergency on the radio. What happened to Atlas?""
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Dante rose slowly, his right hand buried deep in his trench pocket, his thumb flicking off the safety of his sidearm. He watched Julian’s sleeves. The left wrist was neatly fastened with a silver serpent.
The right cuff swung empty, its buttonhole frayed and torn.
