Chapter 13 - The Lion of Milan
The Moretto financial headquarters in central Milan was an imposing fortress of black granite and bulletproof glass, towering over the financial district. By 4:00 AM, the streets were deserted, slick with early morning rain.
Inside the central penthouse vault, Elena sat with Lily wrapped in a warm blanket, while Leonardo monitored the security feeds. Over two dozen loyal Moretto capos had gathered, their expressions grim and anxious. The rumor of Dante’s death had spread like wildfire through the underworld, and loyalty was beginning to fray.
""If Dante is gone, we cannot hold the docks against Castiglione,"" an older capo named Roberto argued, slamming his fist onto the mahogany boardroom table. ""We have to negotiate! Castiglione wants the woman and the bastard child. Hand them over and save our businesses!""
Elena stood up, her eyes flashing with a fury she didn't know she possessed. ""Do not speak of my daughter that way!""
Roberto scoffed, sneering at her maid's demeanor. ""You are a servant, girl. You do not have a voice in this chamber.""
Ethan stepped forward, standing directly in front of Elena. He didn't blink. He stared down the fifty-year-old mobster with cold, unyielding hatred.
""My father made her his wife,"" Ethan said, his childish voice cutting through the tension like a straight razor. ""And Lily is my sister. If anyone in this room tries to touch them, I will personally see that you hang from the cathedral spires when my father returns.""
Silence fell over the boardroom. Several capos exchanged uneasy glances. The boy wasn't just imitating Dante; he was projecting the same terrifying aura of authority.
Before Roberto could bark back, the penthouse elevator chimed.
The security team raised their weapons, training their sights on the reinforced steel doors. The digital panel turned red, then green as a master override code was punched in from the ground floor.
The doors slid open with a soft hiss.
A solitary figure stepped out of the elevator, leaning heavily against the doorframe. He was covered in soot, dried blood, and lake water. His shirt was torn to shreds, exposing deep shrapnel wounds across his chest, and his right arm was wrapped in a crude tactical tourniquet.
Dante Moretto raised his eyes, glaring at Roberto with a gaze so lethal the older man literally fell backward out of his chair.
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""Who said you could negotiate my blood?"" Dante rasped, his voice scraping like gravel against bone.
Ethan gasped, breaking into a run. ""Dad!""
