C67 One Of Mine

Dante didn’t have the time for distraction.

The air around him was dense with tension, the acrid scent of gunpowder from earlier lingering in his nostrils.

He stood in the dimly lit basement of one of his interrogation sites, the stark fluorescence flickering above like a heartbeat.

A man slumped lifelessly in the chair across from him, his lips tinged with the sickly green of the poison he had chosen over the betrayal.

Dante’s fists clenched at his sides, veins pulsing against his skin. Every death was a dead-end trail, leading to the same maddening question.

Who the fuck was trying to take over his territory?

The bastard had stayed hidden so far while using men who weren't directly connected to him, for his dirty work.

If Dante didn’t hate the bastard so much, he would probably have admired his stealth skill.

But disgust was the only thing he could feel for a man who couldn’t even boldly face him to announce a takeover.

“Coward,” Dante muttered under his breath, his voice rough and unforgiving. The sound bounced off the concrete walls, sharp as a blade.

The man’s lifeless face offered no answers, his mouth slightly ajar where the capsule had been tucked away.

Dante’s dark gaze swept the room, taking in the bloodstains on the floor, and the faint metallic tang that hung in the air.

His own reflection glared back at him from the two-way mirror. Highlighting his sharp jaw and the shadow of stubble on his face.

For the past week, someone had been orchestrating chaos on his turf, picking at the threads of his empire.

Attacks on his businesses.

Cornering his men, his people.

And even the attack on Annabelle.

It all pointed to one goal. To fucking mess with him!

The thought of Annabelle brought an unwelcome knot to his chest.

That woman was an enigma.

Bold enough to challenge him, yet vulnerable in a way that made his protective instincts rage like wildfire.

He should’ve been focused solely on the bastard pulling the strings, not the fiery woman who had somehow crawled under his skin.

Dante paced the room, his dark suit pristine despite the chaos.

His tie hung loose around his neck, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a hint of the tattoo that snaked across his chest.

He ran a hand through his thick black hair, the strands falling back into place effortlessly.

His mind wandered back to their last confrontation.

Annabelle standing before him, defiant and unyielding. Her emerald eyes had burned with fury, while her stubborn chin lifted in defiance.

She had dared to defy him. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had dared to do so.

It both infuriated and intrigued him.

No one disobeyed him. No one except her.

The thought lit a spark of something primal in him.

Annabelle wasn’t like Isabella. Isabella had been gentle and obedient.

She was a vision of perfection who had never once crossed him.

Annabelle, on the other hand, was a storm he couldn’t control.

She challenged him and pushed him in ways he hadn’t expected.

And damn if it didn’t excite him.

And somewhere in the chaos of it all, Dante realised, was a part of him he hadn’t felt in years.

A part that cared, that wanted, that longed for something more.

But he didn’t have time for that. Not now.

Not when the fire beneath the ice threatened to consume him.

His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. He swiped it from the table, the sleek black device glowing in his hand.

“What?” he barked, his patience frayed.

“Boss,” Angelo’s voice came through, steady and calm as always. “We found something. You’ll want to see this.”

“Where?”

“The docks. But… it’s not clean.”

Dante’s jaw ticked as his free hand clenched into a fist. “I’m on my way.”

He ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket as he turned toward the stairs.

His mind churned as he ascended, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete steps.

This was his city.

His domain.

And no one, not even some faceless coward, was going to take it from him.

********

The drive to the docks was silent, the hum of the engine the only sound in the car.

Dante sat in the backseat, his sharp profile lit intermittently by the passing streetlights.

His thoughts were a whirlwind.

Thoughts of Annabelle.

Of the enemy.

And the web of deceit he had not been able to undo

He would deal with whoever was causing this chaos.

And then, he would deal with Annabelle.

But as the city lights faded into the shadowed expanse of the waterfront, Dante’s chest tightened. He didn’t know which one was worse.

The war brewing in his city or the one raging inside him.

He stepped out of the car, the cool night air biting against his skin.

His coat flared slightly as he walked, his strides purposeful.

Angelo met him near the entrance to the docks, his face grim under the pale glow of the streetlamp.

“What do we have?” Dante asked, his voice a low growl.

“Another message,” Angelo said, motioning toward the cordoned-off area ahead. “It’s bad, Dante.”

Dante didn’t need Angelo’s warning to know that. He could feel it in his bones.

As he approached the scene, the metallic scent of blood hit him like a wall.

Bodies lay scattered across the dock.

His loyal men were slaughtered like animals.

His jaw clenched as he took in the mess.

Throats slit, chests ripped open.

One man’s body was propped against a shipping container, his blood-soaked shirt plastered to his chest. A piece of paper was pinned to him with a knife, the words scrawled in bold red letters:

“Your reign is over.”

Dante ripped the paper free, his hand trembling with rage. He didn’t need to read it twice to understand the challenge.

Whoever was behind this wasn’t just after his territory. They were after his legacy.

And Dante Cazador didn’t lose.

“Clean this up,” he ordered, his voice cold as ice. “No one hears about this.”

Angelo nodded, his expression hard. “And the message?”

Dante crumpled the paper in his fist, his dark eyes burning. “I’ll deliver one of my own.”