Chapter 8 - The Ghost of the Past
Dante Moretti had been dead for five years.
I had personally buried his empty casket after a rival cartel's car bomb decimated his vehicle in Sicily.
Yet, here he stood in the flesh, older, scarred, and wearing a tailored black suit.
"Hello, little brother," Dante said smoothly, his voice carrying the familiar, arrogant drawl I remembered from our childhood.
"You are supposed to be dead," I whispered, unable to comprehend the ghost standing in my home.
"Death is a wonderful cover for a man who needs to build a shadow army in perfect silence," Dante replied, stepping fully into the room.
He did not work for the Rossi family at all.
He had manipulated the Rossi syndicate, Carlo, and the nanny to do his dirty work.
"Why are you doing this, Dante?" I demanded, keeping myself positioned firmly between him and my children.
"Because you made our family soft, Adrien," Dante spat, his eyes flashing with genuine hatred.
"You tried to legitimize our businesses, you showed mercy to our enemies, and you forgot what it means to be a Moretti."
He pointed his weapon directly at my chest.
"I came to take the children," Dante continued coldly.
"I will raise them in Sicily to be ruthless, unforgiving rulers, exactly as our father intended."
I tightened my grip on my weapon, preparing to die to protect my babies from his monstrous vision.
"You will have to kill me first," I stated with unwavering resolve.
Dante smiled a wicked, hollow smile.
"I do not have to kill you, little brother," Dante said confidently.
"Marco will do it for me."
I felt the cold, unmistakable steel barrel of a gun press firmly against the back of my head.
May you like
I slowly turned my eyes to the side.
Marco, my loyal chief of security, the man who had fought by my side for a decade, was aiming his gun directly at my skull.
