Chapter 168 Interpol Stopped

Chapter 168 Interpol Stopped
The next morning, the phone rang sharply, cutting through the quiet hum of Dante’s office. He stretched tiredly, he had slept off unknowingly there.

He glanced at the screen, then answered without a word. The voice on the other end was brief, clipped, confirming what he already suspected. With a curt nod, he hung up and moved with precision.

By the time Dante arrived at his underground warehouse, the dim lights barely cut through the shadows, the cold concrete floor echoing every step he took. Five men stood rigidly against the wall, their hands bound tightly behind them, eyes wide with apprehension. Each one was breathing heavily.

Dante didn’t waste time. He walked slowly down the line, eyes scanning, calculating, reading every flicker of fear and defiance. His voice was calm, cold, but it carried the weight of a storm. “Tell me. Who sent you?”

The first man swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I… I don’t know. I swear!”

“Don’t swear,” Dante said softly, stepping closer. “It won’t help you. I want names. I want the truth. Otherwise…” He let his words hang, heavy and unrelenting.

The second man took a shaky step back, trying to shrink into the wall. “We… We were told to give information. That’s all. We don’t know who—”

Dante’s hand moved like lightning. The shot rang out, echoing against the concrete. The first man crumpled silently, eyes wide in shock. The second followed almost immediately. Then a third. Three bodies dropped to the floor, lifeless.
The remaining two men trembled violently, their faces went pale, sweat dripping down their temples.

Dante crouched slightly, eyes level with theirs, letting the weight of his presence crush the air around them. “You’re going to talk. And you’re going to talk now.”

They nodded frantically, desperation evident. “We… we don’t know who sent us, I swear! Please—”

“Then tell me everything you do know,” Dante said, voice soft but dripping menace. “Start from the beginning. Every piece of information you handed over, every detail about what the Interpol received.”

One man gulped, trembling as he began. “We… we were asked to report on the company activities, the finances, shipments… anything linked to the Moretti family. The Interpol wanted evidence that could link the organization to crimes… bribery, money laundering, shipments of contraband…”

The other man nodded, picking up the thread. “Yes… they wanted detailed logs, who handles what… who might be in charge if anything goes wrong. They even asked us for personal information about the family… names, addresses, routines…”

Dante listened quietly, his expression unreadable, a shadow of a smile flickering briefly at the edge of his lips. He could feel the fear in them, their lives hanging by the thinnest thread, yet he didn’t rush. He wanted every word, every confession, every shred of truth.

“Then we were contacted by an unknown number, they didn’t tell us what it was exactly,” one whispered, voice breaking. “Only that it had to go to… someone who could take the company down. We didn’t know who. We swear!”

Dante stood upright, walking past them slowly. His boots clicked on the floor. “Good,” he said finally. “You’ve been honest… for now.”

He turned sharply, eyes locking on the pair with lethal intent. “But remember this, you’ve seen what happens to liars. You’ve heard what I can do. If you ever step out of line again… you won’t even have a chance to beg.”

Both men nodded violently, trembling so hard they could barely stand. Dante’s eyes scanned the warehouse one last time before he strode toward the exit, leaving them alive.

Outside, the morning air hit him like a shield. Dante’s mind was already moving, calculating the next step. The Interpol had a leak and he needed to confirm his suspicion.

_______________

After Dante left the warehouse, he joined Matteo in a bar.

The bar was quiet, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses barely reaching them as Dante and Matteo slid into a corner booth. The dim amber lights reflected faintly off Dante’s glass, the amber liquid swirling lazily inside.

Matteo picked up his own drink but didn’t sip immediately. He watched Dante carefully, trying to read the tension that always seemed to cling to him like a second skin. “So…” he began, tone casual but edged with curiosity, “the Interpol… they just stopped? After all the chaos, the threats, the investigations… they just left?”

Dante’s gaze remained fixed on his glass, swirling the liquid absentmindedly. He shrugged. “Sometimes,” he said nonchalantly, not acting a bit concerned. “They realize they’re chasing the wrong rabbit.”

Matteo frowned. “Wrong rabbit?”
Dante smirked faintly, a ghost of amusement in the corner of his lips. “Either the rabbit’s smarter than they thought… or they’re being played. Either way, it doesn’t matter.”

Matteo leaned back, studying him. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Why would I be?” Dante said, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a slow sip. The whiskey burned slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. “The game’s always been more than Interpol, Matteo. More dangerous than they realize. If they stopped… maybe it’s because they’ve been warned. Or maybe because they didn’t want to dig too deep.”

Matteo shook his head, exhaling slowly. “And you’re okay with that?”

Dante finally met his gaze, eyes sharp, almost piercing. “Being okay doesn’t matter. I just make sure it doesn’t matter to anyone else either.” He paused, taking another sip, the faintest edge of anger behind the calm mask. “Let them stop. It only buys me more time to clean the mess. To control what’s left.”

Matteo studied him for a long moment, unsettled by how effortlessly Dante seemed to detach himself from the danger, how he could talk about threats and investigations with such casual composure. “You really don’t care about the risk?”

Dante leaned back, one arm draped along the back of the booth, the other holding the glass loosely. “I care about the results,” he said simply. “Not the investigation. Not the paperwork. Not the threats. I care about the people who try to play me and make sure they regret it.”

Matteo shook his head, half in disbelief, half in admiration. “And here I thought you’d be worried after everything… after Isabella…”

Dante’s expression didn’t falter. He set the glass down, the soft clink echoing in the quiet booth. “Emotions are weaknesses, Matteo. I feel them. But I won't let them rule me, not even for her.”

Matteo sighed, taking a sip from his drink. He didn’t argue, he knew better.

Finally, Dante stood, tossing a few bills onto the table. “We’re done here. Time to check the next mess.”