Chapter 8 - The Syndicate's Guillotine
In the criminal underworld, loyalty is purchased with blood and money. When the money stops flowing, the blood is usually the next thing to spill.
By the end of the week, Dante’s empire was in total, catastrophic freefall. The federal judge, presented with the staggering, irrefutable mountain of evidence I had smuggled out of the penthouse, denied Dante bail. He was stripped of his bespoke suits and forced into an orange jumpsuit, trapped in a concrete holding cell while his kingdom burned.
Without Dante’s iron-fisted control and bottomless bank accounts, his underbosses turned on each other like starving wolves. The Moretti family fractured into three warring factions, completely destroying their stronghold on the city.
But Dante was a survivor. Desperate, humiliated, and driven by a terrifying, obsessive rage, he managed to call in a single, massive favor from a corrupt federal marshal on his payroll.
It was 3:00 AM on a Friday when the perimeter alarms of our safe house shrieked.
I was awake instantly. I didn't scream. I pulled the heavy, biometric lockbox from beneath my bed and retrieved the matte-black firearm the FBI had authorized for my personal protection. I checked the chamber, my hands remarkably steady, and stood in the doorway of Leo’s nursery.
Through the security monitors, I watched the heavy steel doors of the safe house breach.
It wasn't a hit squad. It was Dante.
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He had broken out of federal custody during a transit transfer, and he looked entirely unhinged. His face was bruised, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He moved through the dark hallway like a wounded predator, holding a weapon, desperately searching for the woman who had broken his world.
“Isabella!” Dante roared, his voice echoing violently off the concrete walls. “You think you can hide my son from me? I am a Moretti! I will burn the entire world to ash to find you!”
