Chapter 2
Dante did not rush inside.
That frightened the capos more.
He took Ava to the estate doctor first.
Vivienne laughed when she saw him leave.
“Look at that.”
She adjusted one diamond earring.
“The great Dante Bellandi finally remembers he’s a father before he’s a boss.”
Marcus smirked.
“Give him five minutes. He’ll come back pretending silence is power.”
Dante heard both.
He did not turn.
The doctor confirmed Ava’s heart rhythm had stabilized.
The chain had bruised her waist but caused no serious injury.
Dante sat beside her.
Ava held a small cookie someone brought from the reception.
She broke it in half.
Then wrapped one half inside a napkin.
Dante noticed.
“What’s that for?”
“For you.”
His face changed.
“You’re hungry.”
Ava nodded.
“But you didn’t eat.”
“Vivienne said bad girls don’t get cake.”
Dante looked toward the closed door.
His hand slowly flattened against his knee.
No fist.
No explosion.
Ava watched him carefully.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t get too mad.”
That hurt more than the chain.
She had been baited specifically because everyone knew his anger could be controlled through her.
And now his three-year-old daughter was trying to manage him too.
He kissed her forehead.
“I’m going to listen.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
When Dante returned to the reception hall, Vivienne was drinking champagne.
The arrogance had increased.
She held the glass by the stem and looked him up and down.
“Finished performing father of the year?”
Several guests looked away.
Dante walked toward her.
She took another sip.
“I asked you a question.”
He stopped.
“No.”
Vivienne’s smile sharpened.
“No what?”
“No performance.”
Then he looked at Marcus.
“Play the voice again.”
Marcus shrugged.
“You have the watch.”
Dante looked toward Nico.
The recording played.
Use the little girl. He never thinks when it’s about her.
Dante watched faces.
Not the speaker.
Reactions.
One capo’s eyes narrowed.
Another frowned.
A third looked confused.
Then Enzo Ferrara, Dante’s oldest adviser, lowered his glass.
Too slowly.
Dante noticed.
Vivienne noticed Dante noticing.
That interested her.
“Recognize someone?”
Her tone was mocking.
Dante looked at her.
“You do.”
She smiled.
“Maybe.”
Marcus laughed.
“This is adorable.”
He walked toward the table and took a grape from a silver platter.
“You’ve got twenty men in here wondering which one of them is about to get blamed because your spoiled little princess wore a recorder.”
Dante looked at the grape between Marcus’s fingers.
Then at him.
Marcus chewed.
Deliberately.
“Do something.”
The challenge was obvious.
Hit him.
Explode.
Give the hidden plan what it wanted.
Dante stepped past him.
Marcus stopped chewing.
Dante walked toward Enzo.
The old adviser did not move.
“Stand up.”
Enzo’s eyes held his.
“Why?”
“Because I asked once.”
Silence.
Then Enzo stood.
Power shifted again.
Dante stepped closer.
“Was that your voice?”
“No.”
Immediate.
Clean.
Too clean.
Dante looked at the smartwatch.
“Play it again.”
The voice came through.
Enzo’s breathing did not change.
But the man beside him did.
Thomas Bellandi.
Dante’s uncle.
Former family strategist.
Thomas looked toward the bar.
One second.
That was enough.
Dante turned.
“Uncle.”
Thomas smiled.
Not afraid.
Almost amused.
“Finally.”
The room tightened.
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“You knew whose voice it was.”
Thomas swirled the whiskey in his glass.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Thomas took a slow drink.
Then looked at Dante with open contempt.
“The man who taught you everything.”
A pause.
“Your father.”
May you like
Dante did not move.
His father had been dead for eleven years.
