Chapter 10 - The Reckoning
The tension inside the boardroom was suffocating enough to stop a heart. The capos and advisors stared in absolute shock as Dante Montenegro—the man they had written off as a permanent invalid—stood tall at the head of the table, his dark gaze locked onto a trembling Marco.
"You embezzled from the southern routes, you conspired with foreign medical syndicates to falsify my diagnosis, and you tried to steal my empire while I was fighting to heal," Dante said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. He took a second deliberate step forward, his boots clicking heavily against the marble. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
Marco’s facade of untouchable confidence completely shattered. He stumbled back against the mahogany wall, his eyes darting frantically toward the armed guards stationed by the double doors. But Augusto had already signaled the loyal security detail, who smoothly blocked the exits, their hands resting securely on their holstered sidearms.
"D-Dante, listen to me," Marco stammered, raising his hands in a frantic gesture of surrender, sweat beading heavily on his forehead. "It was just business! The council agreed the syndicate needed stability—"
"The council agreed to nothing based on lies," interrupted Carlos, the senior southern capo, standing up slowly from his chair. He looked from Marco to Dante with a hardened expression of absolute loyalty. "We swore allegiance to Dante Montenegro, not a coward who works in the shadows."
Dante didn't break eye contact with his cousin. He stopped just two paces away from Marco, towering over him with an aura of inescapable doom. For two years, Marco had exulted in Dante's presumed weakness. Now, the tables had turned with terrifying finality.
"You're family, Marco," Dante murmured softly, his tone chillingly polite. "Which is why I won't put a bullet in your head today."
Marco let out a shaky, desperate breath of relief, nodding frantically. "Thank you, cousin, thank you—"
"However," Dante continued, his voice dropping an octave into absolute ice, "your corporate shares are forfeited. Your accounts are frozen. And by sunset, you will be on a cargo flight out of Brazil, never to set foot in São Paulo again. If you ever return, I won't hesitate."
Marco opened his mouth to protest, but one look at Dante’s merciless eyes told him his life hung by a thread. He slumped in defeat, turning on his heel and fleeing the room under the heavy, contemptuous glares of the entire council.
As the double doors slammed shut behind the disgraced traitor, a collective breath exhaled across the boardroom. Dante stood tall for a few moments longer, his legs trembling slightly from the immense exertion, before he slowly lowered himself back into his wheelchair.
Augusto stepped forward immediately, handing him a glass of water, his eyes shining with profound pride and relief.
May you like
"Well handled, Don Dante," Augusto whispered respectfully.
Dante took a slow sip, his dark eyes wandering toward the doorway through which Marina had quietly watched the entire confrontation from the shadows.
