Chapter 4 - The Shadow War
Morning arrived with the harsh, flat glare of November sunlight cutting through greasy apartment windows. Mave stood by the small electric stove, nursing a mug of bitter, instant coffee while keeping one eye on the living room.
Brutus was curled up on the threadbare rug directly in front of the sofa, his massive chin resting on his paws. On the couch, Dante was awake. He had managed to sit up, his broad shoulders squared despite the heavy white bandages wrapping his torso. He was staring out the window at the bustling street below, his expression carved from granite.
"You're moving too fast," Mave said, walking over and handing him a steaming mug of black coffee.
Dante took it, his fingers brushing hers. His skin was warm, the fever already breaking thanks to a heavy dose of antibiotics Mave had scavenged from her grandmother's old stash. "I don't have the luxury of resting. In twelve hours, Viktor knows where I dropped off the grid."
"Viktor?"
"A business partner who decided our arrangement had reached its expiration date," Dante said smoothly, though the cold glint in his pale gray eyes told a much more violent story. He took a slow sip of the coffee, wincing slightly as his core muscles engaged. "He wanted my territory. He thought a bullet and a chained dog would finish it cleanly."
"That dog would have ripped your throat out if he was feral," Mave countered, leaning against the doorframe. "He was protecting you."
"Caesar," Dante corrected softly. "His name is Caesar. And he's loyal to a fault. Just like the men who betrayed me."
"Well, your loyal men are currently hunting you across the city," Mave pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest. "And my apartment is about five hundred square feet of defenseless target practice. What's the play, boss?"
Dante looked around the cramped room, taking in the stacks of dog-eared paperbacks, the faded floral wallpaper, and the quiet determination etched into Mave's features. A faint, humorless smile touched the corner of his lips.
"The play is we go on the offense," Dante said, setting the mug down on the coffee table with a decisive clink. "Viktor thinks I'm dead. When he realizes I survived, he'll make a move to consolidate my accounts at the port. That's where we hit him."
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"We?" Mave scoffed. "Mister, I sling hash browns for a living. My combat experience begins and ends with a spatula."
Dante stood up slowly, towering over her even while favoring his injured side. "You saved my life, Mave. That makes you part of my world now. Whether you like it or not."
