C124 Nothing New

The moonlight barely touched the edges of Dante's car as it sped through Acadia's quiet streets.

Still seething from his confrontation with Romano, he typed out a code-red alert to his men.

The message was succinct and to the point.

Find whoever the hell was behind the recent attacks and don’t stop until you have something.

His hands flexed over the steering wheel as another idea struck him.

Pulling over near a shadowy alley, he activated his phone's camera.

“Enough of this hiding,” Dante growled, his voice carrying the weight of command.

“To whoever’s been tearing through my territory, taking lives like a coward. Come to me. Face me if you’ve got the spine for it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with a challenge that no one in the underworld could ignore.

He sent the video through encrypted channels, making sure it would reach every corner of the city’s criminal network.

Angelo’s voice rang through his earpiece moments later.

“You’ve just painted a target on yourself. Brilliant move, boss.”

“I’m done playing their game,” Dante replied curtly.

“If this bastard wants a war, I’ll give him one. But it’ll be on my terms.”

There was a pause, then Angelo sighed.

“Just don’t make me regret following you into this madness.”

Dante ended the call without replying.

For a moment, the quiet of the night pressed down on him, but he shook it off and turned the car toward Matteo’s estate.

Matteo had been a pillar in his life, a godfather in every sense of the word, offering guidance and wisdom even when Dante didn’t want to hear it.

The nurse’s updates about Matteo’s failing health had been gnawing at the back of Dante’s mind.

It felt like yet another pillar in his life was crumbling.

When he arrived, the estate was cloaked in darkness, its grandeur subdued under the faint light of the moon.

He pushed open the heavy door and strode inside, nodding to the guards stationed near the entrance.

The scent of old wood and faint medicinal alcohol greeted him as he climbed the carpeted stairs.

Matteo’s room was dim, lit only by a small bedside lamp that cast a warm glow over the frail man lying on the bed.

He looked smaller than Dante remembered, his complexion waxy and his breathing shallow.

“Godfather,” Dante said softly, taking a seat beside the bed.

Matteo turned his head slowly, a faint smile gracing his lips.

“Dante,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You look like you’ve been through hell.”

Dante forced a small smile.

“Nothing I can’t handle. But you…how are you feeling?”

Matteo waved a feeble hand.

“Old and tired. Nothing new.”

Dante reached out, gripping Matteo’s hand gently.

“I won’t stay long. I just wanted to check on you.”

Matteo’s eyes softened.

“You’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders, boy. Don’t carry it all alone.”

Dante nodded, but the words barely registered.

There was so much he wanted to say—to ask—but seeing Matteo in this state made him hesitate.

Instead, he murmured a promise to return soon and stood to leave.

As he exited Matteo’s room, Dante nearly collided with Antonia in the corridor.

She was dressed in a flowing black gown, her hair cascading down her shoulders in soft waves.

Her eyes were rimmed red, evidence of her distress.

“Dante,” she began, her voice trembling.

“He’s getting worse, isn’t he?”

Dante hesitated, then nodded.

“He’s weak, but he’s holding on.”

Antonia bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the floor.

“I don’t know how much longer he can hold on,” she whispered.

“And with these attacks... I’m terrified they’ll come for us next.”

“They won’t,” Dante assured her firmly.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Her breath hitched, and suddenly, tears spilled down her cheeks.

Before he could react, she threw herself into his arms, sobbing against his chest.

Dante froze, his hands hovering awkwardly before he slowly wrapped them around her shoulders.

“Antonia...” he began, but she cut him off with a choked sob.

“I’m so scared, Dante. I don’t know what to do.”

He murmured vague reassurances, his discomfort growing as her hands trailed over his back.

Then Natasha’s voice from earlier that day echoed in his mind.

“Antonia would probably fall over herself to be with you.”

He stiffened, trying to step back, but Antonia tightened her grip.

Before he could fully process her movements, she tilted her head up, her lips brushing against his.

“Antonia!” he barked, pushing her away.

She stumbled back, her face a mask of regret and mortification.

“I…I'm sorry,” she stammered, her voice cracking.

“I’m not myself. I’m just... I’m going out of my mind with worry.”

Dante’s expression hardened as he stepped past her.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he said coldly, leaving her standing in the dim corridor, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

...............

The rumble of the engine filled the tense silence in Dante’s car as it cruised down the isolated road.

He gripped the wheel tighter, his thoughts still tangled in the mess Antonia had made earlier.

Her audacity surprised him.

But even more bewildering was the faint flicker of doubt Natasha’s earlier words had planted in his mind.

Could Antonia really see him as more than family?

The idea was ridiculous.

She’d always been a sister to him.

A constant presence during his childhood.

Someone his family had occasionally teased about ending up with him.

And tat was because of how fond Antonia had been of him as far back as he could remember.

But that was years ago, long before Isabella came into his life.

He remembered bringing Isabella home from college and the way Antonia had embraced her with such genuine warmth.

They’d been close friends until the end.

The end.

Dante’s jaw clenched as the memory of Isabella’s death resurfaced.

Antonia had been devastated, angry at herself for not being there when it happened.

He shook his head, dismissing Natasha’s insinuation.

Antonia’s grief and worry over Matteo’s declining health must have clouded her judgment.

Still, the unsettling thought lingered.

Had he ever seen Antonia with a man?

The question nagged at him as he glanced sideways at Angelo, who was scanning the horizon with his usual vigilance.

“Angelo,” Dante said, breaking the silence.

Angelo turned, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly at the tone of Dante’s voice.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Have you ever seen Antonia with anyone... romantically?”

Angelo blinked, his brows drawing together in confusion.

“Romantically?” he repeated, as if Dante had just asked the most absurd question in the world.

“Yes,” Dante said flatly.

“I haven’t exactly been keeping tabs on her social life,” Angelo replied with a shrug.

“But now that you mention it... no. Not that I can recall.”

Dante frowned, his grip on the wheel tightening.

The answer didn’t sit well with him, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Do you want me to look into it?” Angelo asked, his tone cautious but curious.

Dante shook his head.

“It’s none of our business.”

Angelo nodded and settled back into his seat, though the curiosity lingered in his gaze.

Dante refocused on the road, determined to put the matter out of his mind.

Antonia was free to live her life however she pleased, whether or not she had romantic interests.

That had nothing to do with him.

His gaze sharpened as the road curved, and he noticed the faint glint of headlights in the distance.

The quiet hum of the car suddenly felt too loud, the atmosphere too still.

His instincts prickled just as a truck roared into view, veering into the path of his convoy.

The front vehicle…a sleek black sedan filled with his men…didn’t stand a chance.

The truck slammed into it with brutal force, sending it skidding off the road.

“Shit!” Angelo hissed, reaching for his weapon.

Dante’s hand was already on his gun as the truck screeched to a halt in front of them, its back doors flinging open.

Men in dark clothing poured out, armed with machine guns that gleamed under the dim light of the moon.

“Ambush,” Dante said, his voice cold and steady.

The first hail of bullets ricocheted off their armoured car, the metallic clangs echoing in the confined space.

Behind them, the cars carrying his men skidded to a stop as gunfire erupted from all sides.

The night lit up with flashes of muzzle fire as chaos descended on the quiet road.

“Cover the left!” Dante barked at Angelo, leaning out of the window to return fire.

His first few shots hit their marks, two attackers dropping before they could reload.

Angelo’s aim was just as precise, his bullets cutting through the shadows with deadly accuracy.

But for every man they took down, two more seemed to appear, their relentless assault forcing Dante’s convoy into a defensive stance.

Motorcycles roared from the rear, their riders armed and closing in fast.

Dante’s men engaged them, but the sheer number of enemies began to tip the scales.

Dante’s jaw tightened as he assessed the situation, his mind racing through possible strategies.

The odds weren’t in their favour.

Not with this level of coordination from the attackers.

Whoever had orchestrated this wasn’t just looking to make a statement.

They were out for blood.

He supposed that video of his had gotten arond fast enough.

If only the cowardly bastard would just show his face directly.

“Boss, they’re pinning us down!” Angelo shouted over the chaos.

Dante’s car shook as another burst of gunfire struck its side, the reinforced steel holding firm but straining under the onslaught.

He caught sight of one of his men being pulled off the bike he had jumped on, his screams lost in the racket of the fight.

The attackers were closing in from all sides.

Their strategy was suddenly clear.

They wanted Dante alive.

Angelo fired another round, his movements calculated and precise.

But even he couldn’t suppress the tension in his voice.

“We’re boxed in, Dante. They’re going to overwhelm us if we don’t move.”

Dante clenched his teeth, his grip on the gun steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The chaos around him blurred for a moment as a singular thought pierced his mind.

He might not survive this.

The image of Annabelle flashed before his eyes.

Her stubborn gaze and the fire in her voice when she challenged him.

The way she softened when she thought no one was looking.

The regret hit him harder than any bullet could.

He hadn’t heard her say the words he so desperately wanted to hear.

“Fuck,” Dante muttered under his breath, his resolve hardening.

If he was going down, he’d take as many of these bastards with him as possible.

“Stay close,” he ordered Angelo, his tone sharper than the bite of steel.

“Let’s finish this.”

The night roared back to life as Dante and his men fought on.

The line between survival and surrender growing thinner with every passing second.