Chapter 4 - The Ghost of the Past
Dante’s hand gripped the edge of the walnut desk so tightly his knuckles turned completely white.
Someone had intercepted two of his most lethal enforcers inside his own highly secure building.
And they had taken a traitor who possessed intimate, devastating knowledge of the syndicate's operations.
“Lock down the building,” Dante ordered coldly into the intercom. “No one enters or leaves. Find my men.”
He released the button and immediately drew his weapon, checking the chamber with practiced, lethal efficiency.
Emily watched him, her pragmatic mind already calculating the financial fallout of a potential mafia war breaking out in the lobby.
“Who would be bold enough to attack your guards inside your own headquarters?” Emily asked, finally standing up from her ergonomic chair.
Dante didn't look at her; his dark eyes were scanning the shadows of his massive office.
“There is only one family left in Chicago who hates me enough to try,” Dante growled softly.
“The Morettis.”
Emily frowned, pulling her sensible gray cardigan tighter around her shoulders.
“The Moretti family was completely dismantled five years ago after their boss died in federal prison,” she pointed out.
“I know,” Dante replied, moving silently toward the heavy oak doors.
“Because I am the one who put him there.”
He cracked the door open, checking the deserted, dimly lit hallway.
The fire alarms had finally shut off, leaving the forty-second floor in an eerie, terrifying silence.
“Stay exactly where you are, Emily,” Dante commanded, stepping out into the corridor.
“Lock the door behind me and do not open it for anyone except me.”
Emily nodded, reaching for the heavy brass deadbolt.
As the door clicked shut, Dante moved like a ghost down the long, carpeted hallway toward the freight elevators.
He found his two enforcers unconscious on the floor, their weapons stripped and their tactical vests completely shredded by heavy combat knives.
Sal was gone, leaving behind only a trail of bloody footprints leading toward the emergency stairwell.
Dante pushed open the heavy fire door, raising his weapon as he entered the echoing concrete stairwell.
He descended three flights of stairs in absolute silence, following the drops of fresh blood.
He finally reached the thirty-ninth floor, pushing through the door into a sprawling, unfinished office space that was currently under construction.
The massive room was completely dark, filled with exposed wiring, plastic sheeting, and concrete pillars.
“Sal?” Dante called out, his voice cold and echoing in the empty space.
A low, agonized groan answered him from the far corner of the room.
Dante moved quickly, using the concrete pillars for cover, until he found his treacherous capo.
Sal was tied to a steel support beam, brutally beaten, and bleeding heavily from multiple stab wounds.
“Boss,” Sal coughed, spitting a thick wad of blood onto the dusty floor.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to steal the money. They forced me to do it.”
Dante kept his weapon raised, scanning the dark corners of the construction site.
“Who forced you, Sal?”
Sal looked up, his eyes wide with absolute, primal terror.
“She did, Boss. She said if I didn't drain the accounts, she would kill my entire family.”
Dante frowned, his grip tightening on his gun.
“Who is 'she'?”
Before Sal could answer, a chillingly familiar, elegant voice echoed from the shadows behind Dante.
“Hello, Dante. It has been a very long time.”
Dante froze, his heart slamming violently against his ribs.
He slowly turned around, lowering his weapon as his mind struggled to process the impossible sight before him.
Stepping out from behind a concrete pillar was a woman with long, dark hair, wearing a tailored black trench coat.
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She looked exactly as beautiful and dangerous as she had the day she supposedly died.
It was Clara. His wife.
