Chapter 1 - The Mark of the Serpent
Rain lashed the cellar doors, but inside, the air was dead still. Dante stood frozen, his handgun pointed toward the damp flagstones. His eyes were locked on the silver medallion dangling from the maid’s fingers. The crest—two entwined curved blades crossing a hollow eye—was a relic from an empire he believed he had burned to the ground a decade ago.
"Where did you get that, Elena?" Dante’s voice dropped to a gravelly rasp. The tattoos along his jaw flexed as his teeth ground together. "The Ashen Covenant was wiped out in Sofia. I buried their leader myself."
Elena let the medallion fall against the black fabric of her uniform with a soft, metallic click. Her dark eyes gave away nothing. "You killed an old man with dementia who claimed a dead crown, Dante. You never found the archives. You never found the bloodline."
Behind Elena, nine-year-old Grace did not open her bruised eyes. She adjusted her grip on the smooth oak staff, her small shoulders rising and falling in rhythmic breaths. In the corner, five-year-old Lily clutched her worn white teddy bear, hiding behind an empty oak barrel.
"You brought their war into my home," Dante hissed, taking a step forward. Water dripped from the hem of his long overcoat, pooling around his polished leather shoes. "You were hired to keep my daughters safe while I cleaned the streets."
"I am keeping them safe," Elena replied without blinking. "A bodyguard can only take one bullet for them. A weapon can defend itself. Look at her, Dante. When the sirens wailed three nights ago, your men scattered. Who pulled Lily from the burning terrace?"
Dante felt a cold spike in his chest. Three days ago, a perimeter breach had nearly cost him his family. His lieutenant had claimed it was a random hit from rival street crews. Now, looking at Elena’s serene, merciless posture, the pieces reassembled into a horrific reality.
"Grace," Dante ordered, his tone leaving no room for defiance. "Drop the staff. Take your sister and go to your room."
Grace didn't move. Her voice was barely a whisper, yet it cut through the cellar like cold steel. "No."
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Dante stared at his daughter in shock. "What did you say?"
Grace opened her eyes. The hazel irises were completely milky, veiled by a thin grey film that hadn't been there when he left forty-eight hours ago. Dante raised his lantern, his breath hitching as he realized the horrific truth—she wasn't keeping her eyes shut for focus; she was entirely blind.
