C107 Let My Men Go

Dante Cazador sat in his study, the dim light casting deep shadows on the walls as he read the message from one of his informants.

His jaw clenched, his dark eyes narrowing as the words sank in.

Rafael Bavvga.

The name made his blood simmer.

That cocky son of a bitch.

Dante had suspected him for weeks now, but this?

This was a betrayal on another level.

Rafael, the son of Romano Bavvga, a man Dante’s father had trusted.

A man Dante himself had tried to show some semblance of respect, was the one undermining his authority.

That fool had caused the death of his men and caused him losses too!

When Dante had questioned the five families at their last meeting, Romano had been the loudest in defending his family’s loyalty.

His words had been biting, sharp with the insult that Dante could even think of mistrusting them. And now here was proof that Romano’s son had been working behind his back, cutting deals to erode Dante’s hold on Acadia.

Dante tossed the paper onto the desk, his fingers curling into fists.

He rose, his movements deliberate and controlled despite the rage simmering beneath his skin. His black shirt clung to his frame, the crisp fabric outlining the hard lines of muscle as he shrugged on his leather jacket.

He slid his onyx ring back onto his finger, the cool metal grounding him as he called for his men.

The boxing arena was run down.

It was a shadow of its former self, with peeling paint and flickering neon lights above the entrance.

The air outside smelled of oil and rain-soaked concrete, a damp chill settling over the quiet street.

Dante’s men disarmed the guards outside with ruthless efficiency.

The two attendants of the ring went down easily enough without resistance.

They worked silently with their movements precise.

Dante watched from the shadows, his arms crossed over his chest as the last of Rafael’s men were restrained and dragged to the side.

"Nobody kills them," Dante ordered coldly, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Angelo, standing beside him, raised a brow but nodded. “Not even a scratch?”

Dante’s dark eyes flicked to him. “They were Romano’s men first. If he doesn’t know what Rafael’s been up to, killing them sends the wrong message.”

Angelo grunted in response, though his unease was clear. “Fine. But this could turn into a bloodbath…”

“It won’t,” Dante said firmly. “Not unless they make it one.”

He moved straight in the direction of the hidden door he had been told.

The latch was hidden behind the grandfather clock stuck at twelve past three.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a narrow staircase winding down into darkness. The air was colder here, musty with the scent of mildew and something faintly metallic.

“Of course, that cowardly bastard would choose this place to strike his deal.” Dante thought distastefully.

After all, who would have cared to look closely at a boxing ring whose owner was down on his luck?

Dante descended the stairs.

He was high on alert with his steps measured and silent.

He had his gun out and was ready to take down any fool who decided to meet his maker that day.

Unease prickled at the back of his neck.

“Why the fuck would Rafe go against me when I have been fair to them all?” he wondered briefly, as the winding stairs seemed to go on forever.

But then he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.

Pricks in his world were never satisfied, and they could decide to go against the order just for the fun of it.

Dante was going to make an example of Rafael.

An example that no other idiot who wanted to take the same steps as Romano’s son would forget in a hurry.

Dante’s brow furrowed as he realised the reason for his unease.

There were no guards posted in the hallway.

No sounds of negotiation or conversation coming from the basement below.

It didn’t add up.

Rafael could be an arrogant prick, but he wasn’t careless.

Dante signalled to his men with a sharp gesture, his hand briefly catching the faint light from above.

They fanned out, guns at the ready, as they moved deeper into the basement.

The only room at the end of the hall was dimly lit, a single bulb casting a weak yellow glow over the poker table in the centre.

Rafael was seated at the head.

He had his back to the door.

Yet, his sandy, mohawk-styled hair was unmistakable even from behind.

Dante frowned. “Rafael,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence.

The man didn’t move.

His head was tilted forward, as though deep in thought.

Dante frowned as a thought occurred to him.

“Still playing games, are we?” Dante’s voice sharpened, his irritation clear. “Turn around, Bavvga. Or are you too much of a coward to face me?”

But Rafael didn’t respond.

Angelo stepped forward cautiously, his movements deliberate. “Something’s off,” he muttered, angling toward Rafael’s side.

The moment Angelo’s eyes landed on the man’s face, he swore. “Shit.”

Dante felt the answer before Angelo even turned the chair.

He approached, his stomach knotting as Rafael’s body was spun to face them.

A bullet hole marred the centre of Rafael’s forehead.

Dark blood streaked down his face and pooled onto his shirt.

His eyes were wide open, lifeless and glassy.

Whoever had killed him hadn’t left him time to react.

Dante’s jaw tightened.

He crouched slightly, inspecting the body. “Point-blank,” he muttered. “Someone he trusted.”

Angelo glanced toward the doorway, his gun still drawn. “Whoever did this knew we were coming. Hell, they might still be here.”

Dante straightened, his mind racing.

This wasn’t just an assassination; it was a message. And with Dante’s presence here, it could easily be twisted into a trap.

“Get him out of here,” Dante ordered. “We can’t leave him like this. Romano will—”

His words cut off as the faint sound of footsteps echoed from above.

When Dante emerged back into the open air,

The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

His men, who had been holding Rafael’s guards at bay, were now restrained themselves.

A new group had arrived.

They were Romano’s men.

There were more than three dozen of them.

They all had their weapons trained on Dante and his crew.

Standing at the forefront was Romano Bavvga himself.

The older man was as imposing as ever, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back.

His dark eyes were burning with fury.

His tailored coat hung open, revealing a crisp grey suit beneath.

He looked every inch the mob boss he had once been before he handed power to his only son and heir.

Dante stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “Let my men go, Romano.”

Romano didn’t budge, his lips curling into a snarl. “Not until you tell me what you’ve done to my son.”

Dante’s gaze didn’t waver. “Rafael’s dead.”

For a moment, Romano's age showed as he looked past Dante towards the hidden door.

Then his face twisted with rage as he raised his gun at Dante and said, “I suppose you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with it, uhn? You’re here, in my son’s territory, and he’s dead. How convenient.”

“Think carefully before you accuse me, Bavvga” Dante warned, his tone low and dangerous.

Despite the fact they were outnumbered, Dante moved towards Romano's raised gun and said, "You won't find your son's killer here, Romano. Let. My. Men. Go"