Chapter 6 - THE SPIDER IN THE WEB
Dante's blood ran cold.
Already sitting at your dinner table.
He didn't waste another second on Paulie. He kicked the gun away from the wounded man's reach, turned on his heel, and sprinted back toward the mansion, leaving the guards to secure the prisoners.
Inside the grand foyer, the security lights flickered ominously. The heavy oak doors were locked tight, but the air felt wrong — too quiet, too still, like the calm before a hurricane.
"Marco!" Dante shouted, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "Marco, report!"
No answer. Only the rhythmic dripping of water somewhere near the west corridor.
Dante drew his backup pistol from his shoulder holster, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He moved down the hallway toward the private dining room, his boots making no sound on the thick Persian rugs.
The double doors to the dining room were cracked open by two inches. A warm, yellow sliver of light spilled out onto the dark floor.
Dante pushed the door open with the barrel of his gun.
Inside, sitting calmly at the head of the mahogany dining table beneath the crystal chandelier, was Marco Bellini.
Marco wasn't tied up. He wasn't hiding. He was pouring a glass of Dante's most expensive twenty-year-old scotch, his silver signet ring catching the chandelier light with a sharp, brilliant gleam.
Standing right beside him, holding a small silver tray with a loaded silenced pistol resting upon it, was Victor Vance — the family's chief legal counsel, who was supposed to be in Chicago for a deposition.
Dante stopped dead in the doorway. The world seemed to tilt on its axis.
"You," Dante whispered, the single word carrying a weight that could crush stone.
Marco took a slow sip of his scotch, swirling the amber liquid against the crystal walls. He didn't look afraid. He looked tired, relieved, and entirely resolved.
"Sit down, Dante," Marco said softly, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "We have a lot to discuss before the federal marshals arrive."
Dante didn't move. His finger rested lightly on the trigger of his pistol, aiming squarely at the center of Marco's chest.
"Twenty years, Marco," Dante said, his voice shaking with a terrible, controlled fury. "I trusted you with my life, my secrets, my blood."
"And I built this empire with you, Dante," Marco replied, his voice dropping into a bitter register. "Every dock, every shell company, every dollar — I carried the weight while you played the king on the hill. But empires change hands. The syndicate wants a modern board. Digital currency, international logistics, no old-world baggage."
"And the cameras?" Dante's eyes flicked to Victor Vance, then back to Marco. "You wired my house? You spied on an eight-year-old child?"
"Paulie went too far with the cameras in the private quarters," Marco admitted, his expression darkening slightly. "I told him to stick to the meeting rooms and the study. But Paulie was greedy. He wanted leverage on everyone — including you."
"Where is Clare?" Dante demanded, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Where is the girl?"
Marco smiled slowly. "Safe, Dante. Down in the secure vault with her daughter. Just like you ordered me to do."
Marco raised his glass toward the doorway behind Dante.
May you like
Dante spun around, his gun raised — but it was already too late.
Standing in the shadows of the hallway entrance, holding a shivering, wide-eyed Lily by the hand, was Victor Vance's brother, holding a heavy-caliber revolver pressed directly against the small of Clare's back.
