Chapter 69 Lessons enemies teach

Chapter 69 Lessons enemies teach
Dante’s POV

The officer sitting across from me refuses to meet my eyes. He has been avoiding them since we left the building.

Every few minutes, his gaze drops to the handcuffs around my wrists before quickly moving elsewhere, like he's reassuring himself they are still there.

I almost find it amusing. If I wanted to cause problems, a pair of metal cuffs would not be enough to stop me.

The vehicle takes a sharp turn. The younger officer near the door shifts slightly in his seat.

Nervous. Not because of me. Because of the situation.

There is a difference.

I have spent too many years reading people not to notice it.

Nobody speaks. Nobody asks questions. Nobody attempts the usual performance. No threats. No speeches. No smug remarks about finally catching Dante Vitale.

Just silence.

That tells me more than conversation ever could. This isn't an arrest born from opportunity. It's an arrest born from preparation.

I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes briefly. Not to rest. To think.

The attack replays itself. The shots. The panic. The timing. The sirens. Too fast. Far too fast.

The police arrived before anyone should have reasonably known there was a problem.

Which means they were already nearby.

Waiting.

The realization settles comfortably in my mind. Comfortably, because uncertainty is always worse than truth.

Even ugly truths. Someone wanted me removed. Someone planned every step carefully.

And someone spent a considerable amount of money making sure today's events unfolded exactly as they did.

My jaw tightens slightly. Not because of the arrest.

Because of Lucia. The last thing I saw before they pulled me toward the vehicle was her.

Not the officers. Not the crowd.

Her.

Arguing with armed police officers as she had completely forgotten fear existed.

Demanding identification. Demanding explanations. Demanding answers nobody intended to give.

A small exhale leaves me. Predictable. Completely predictable.

Most people would have stayed quiet.

Lucia has never been like most people.

She was angry. I could see it.

The kind of anger that appears when fear doesn't know where to go. The thought lingers longer than it should. Then I push it aside.

Worrying accomplishes nothing. Planning does.

The vehicle eventually slows. The gates open. The engine dies.

A moment later, the rear doors swing open. Cool air enters first.

Then the instructions. "Out."

I stand without argument. One officer moves behind me. Another to my left. A third to my right.

Formation.

Again. Interesting.

Either they believe I'm dangerous enough to require this much caution, or someone specifically instructed them not to take chances.

Neither possibility surprises me. The station itself is exactly what I expected.

Grey walls. Artificial lighting. Too many cameras. Too many locked doors.

I am processed efficiently.

No delays.

No paperwork sitting forgotten on desks. Everything is already prepared.

Another detail I filed away.

One officer reads the charges. I listen. Not because I care. Because I want to hear how they intend to justify this.

Illegal firearm discharge. Possession of an unregistered weapon. Public endangerment.

I almost laugh.

The weapon is registered. Everyone involved knows it.

Which means the accusation isn't intended to hold forever. Only long enough.

Long enough for something else to happen. Long enough for me to be absent.

That thought interests me considerably more than the arrest itself.

They eventually led me down a corridor lined with cells. The sound of metal doors echoes throughout the space.

A familiar sound.

Not because I've spent time behind bars. Because I've sent enough people here.

Funny how life works. The guard unlocks a cell.

I step inside. The door closes behind me. The lock clicks. Then silence.

For several seconds, I simply stand there. Observing.

The room is small. A bench. A toilet. A narrow window positioned too high to be useful.

Nothing remarkable.

I sit. Resting my forearms against my knees. Thinking.

Because for the first time all day, nobody is speaking to me. Nobody needs anything. Nobody expects anything.

The quiet allows my thoughts to arrange themselves. The attack wasn't meant to kill me. If it were, they would have tried harder.

The shooters had opportunities. Several. Instead, they created chaos.

Chaos forced a response. The response justified the arrest. The arrest removed me from the board.

Simple, efficient, and calculated. Which brings me to the question that matters.

Why now?

The answer sits just beyond reach. Close enough to feel. Too far away to grasp.

I stare at the floor. Then at the wall. Then at nothing at all.

Eventually, another thought forces its way forward.

Nico.

My eyes narrow slightly. Of all the complications currently surrounding my life, Nico Romano is the one I dislike the most.

Not because he is dangerous. Because he is unknown.

Unknown variables are inconvenient. And inconvenience has a way of becoming expensive.

Casteelo trusts him. Or thinks he does.

Nico claims to be helping us. Lucia knows him. History exists between them. Too much history.

Questions exist there. Questions I have deliberately avoided asking.

Not because I don't want answers. Because timing matters.

The wrong question at the wrong moment can destroy useful information.

Still.

The coincidence bothers me. My attention shifts toward the ceiling.

I wonder what Lucia is doing right now. Probably pacing.

Probably arguing with Giovanni. Possibly threatening someone. The thought almost earns a smile.

Almost.

Then reality settles back into place. Because whether she realizes it or not, the moment I was placed inside this cell, she became more vulnerable.

Not physically. Politically.

People are brave when standing behind power. The moment that power disappears, they reveal who they truly are.

And Lucia— Lucia is about to discover exactly who surrounds her.

A slow breath leaves me. Three days.

Maybe less. A week if whoever orchestrated this is particularly ambitious.

Either way, I will be out. The certainty of that doesn't come from arrogance.

It comes from experience. People have tried to remove me before. People have tried to break my organization before. People have tried to force me into corners before.

None of them succeeded. The difference this time is that they are smarter.

That makes them dangerous. Dangerous opponents are useful. They teach lessons that weaker enemies cannot.

I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. Not to sleep. Just to think.

Because somewhere outside this cell, Casteelo is celebrating. And if there is one thing I know about men like him—It is that victory makes them careless.

Eventually. And when that moment comes— I intend to be there for it.