Chapter 3 - The Viper in the House
"Julian," Dante’s voice dropped into a register so cold and lethal it made my blood freeze in my veins. He didn't reach for his gun; he moved with the terrifying stillness of a predator calculating the exact angle of a kill. "You stepped onto my property without an invitation. That’s a fatal mistake."
Julian laughed—a high, nervous sound that lacked any real humor. He stepped further into the study, his pistol steady, keeping the barrel trained on me while his eyes danced with manic triumph.
"Oh, spare me the mafia patriarch routine, Dante," Julian sneered, shaking his head. "For three years, you've lorded over the family syndicate, acting like you're untouchable, while I cleaned up your messes. And all the while, the key to your entire empire—the little insurance policy your dear departed wife hid away—was living right under your nose in a greasy Italian restaurant."
I pressed my back against the bookshelf, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "I don't know what he's talking about! I told you, I have amnesia!"
"Shut up, Gina," Julian snapped, his eyes flashing with genuine malice. "Or should I call you Elena? Truth is, you were always too soft for our world. When you tried to run away from Dante three years ago with the ledger books and the bearer bonds, you thought you were being clever. But you crashed your car, didn't you? Amnesia was a nice little bonus Mother Nature handed you."
Dante’s entire body went rigid. His gaze snapped from Julian to me, a sudden, devastating realization dawning in his stormy eyes. "You... you were running?"
"I didn't know!" I cried out, tears spilling over my lashes, panic choking my throat. "I swear to God, Dante, I don't remember any of it! I woke up in a hospital bed with tubes down my throat and no idea who I was! If I ran from him, I had a reason!"
"It doesn't matter what she remembers," Julian interrupted, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger. "The board of directors at Valente Holdings is meeting tomorrow morning. With Elena—sorry, Gina—back in play, and with the triplets acknowledging her as mother, your paternal custody claim shatters, Dante. Combined with my shares and her signature, I take control of the Syndicate by noon."
Rocco made a subtle move toward his shoulder holster, but Julian’s mercenaries instantly raised their rifles, laser sights painting crimson dots across Rocco's chest.
"Don't even think about it, mountain man," one of the mercenaries barked.
Julian smiled, taking a step closer to me, his gun drifting upward to press against my temple. The cold steel sent a shiver straight down my spine. "Now, cousin. We can do this the easy way, where you sign over your voting rights and let me take my rightful place at the head of the table... or I put a bullet through your beloved wife's head, and we see if your precious sons ever speak another word again."
The silence in the study was absolute.
I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact, listening to the frantic beat of my own heart. I had survived a horrific car crash. I had survived three years of scraping by on minimum wage, drowning in medical debt, and eating instant ramen in a studio apartment. Was this really how it ended? In a mahogany-paneled room, held at gunpoint by a lunatic cousin for a crime I couldn't even remember committing?
Then, I heard it.
A soft, distinct patter of bare footsteps running down the hallway outside the open study door.
Julian’s eyes flicked toward the hallway for a fraction of a second.
It was all the opening Dante needed.
With blinding, savage speed, Dante lunged across the desk, grabbing a heavy brass paperweight and hurling it directly into Julian’s face, while simultaneously drawing his sidearm from his shoulder holster.
May you like
Bang.
The gunshot roared through the study, deafening and sharp, blowing out the glass of the window behind us as chaos erupted in the room.
