Chapter 10 - The Ultimatum
The seconds stretched out like iron wire, pulled to their absolute breaking point.
Dante’s finger rested on the trigger, his gray eyes locked onto Thomas Vance with enough hatred to burn a city to ash. For a terrifying moment, I thought he was going to do it—thought he was going to pull the trigger and end the blood feud right there on the brownstone floor.
“Boss,” Leo warned softly, keeping his rifle trained on the three armed men standing at the top of the stairwell. “We’re outnumbered if they open fire in here.”
Dante’s jaw tightened so hard I could hear the bone pop. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his weapon and released Thomas’s lapels.
Thomas smoothed down his jacket, adjusting his cuffs with sickening calm as he caught his breath.
“Smart boy,” Thomas rasped, offering a twisted smile. “Violence is so... pedestrian. Especially when we can settle this like civilized partners.”
“There is no partnership,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet fury. “You leave this house, and you never come back. If you touch her, or anyone she knows, I won't just kill you—I’ll dismantle everything you built brick by brick.”
Thomas chuckled, turning toward the stairs. He paused at the landing, looking back over his shoulder at me.
“Think about it, Olivia,” Thomas said smoothly. “You want to know the truth about your mother? Come to the address on the flash drive tomorrow at noon. Bring the ledger. And bring the dog.”
With that, Thomas and his men slipped back down the stairs, vanishing into the Manhattan night as quickly as they had appeared.
The heavy front door clicked shut.
I sank back against the mahogany table, my legs refusing to hold me a second longer. Orion trotted over, resting his heavy head on my knee, letting out a soft, grounding sigh.
Dante stood motionless in the center of the room, staring at the spot where Thomas had stood. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, knuckles white.
“We’re not going to his address,” I said quietly, looking up at him. “It’s a trap.”
Dante turned slowly, his hard gray eyes softening just a fraction as they met mine.
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“I know it’s a trap,” Dante said, walking over and kneeling beside me. He placed a warm, steady hand over mine. “Which is why we’re going to spring it on our own terms.”
The silence that followed was heavy with anticipation, the open threads of the past pulling us toward a final confrontation that would either destroy us both—or set us free.
