Chapter 20 Chaos in the High District

Chapter 20 Chaos in the High District
Dante’s POV 

The High District was no longer a sanctuary of marble and silence. It was a war zone.

From the top floor of the Valerius Tower, I looked down at the streets that used to bow to my name. Now, they were choked with black smoke and the rhythmic, guttural chant of a thousand angry voices. The "vermin" had climbed out of the Cauldron and brought their fire with them. Protesters were clashing with the riot squads, and the air was thick with the smell of tear gas and burning rubber.

"The humans have lost their fucking minds, Dante," Enzo said, leaning against the doorframe of my office. He looked ragged. His shirt was torn, and there was a fresh gash across his cheekbone. "They’re flipping Syndicate cars. They’re trying to storm the precinct. The leak didn't just hurt us; it broke the illusion."

"The illusion was already dying," I rasped. I hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. My skin felt too tight for my bones, and the bond with Marisol was a jagged, pulsing wire in my chest, vibrating with every surge of her triumph. "She didn't just steal a ledger, Enzo. She handed them a mirror, and they hate what they see."

"They don't hate the mirror. They hate the hand holding it," Enzo countered, his eyes dark with worry. "The Council is calling for an emergency session. Silas is already talking about 'The Great Reset.' You know what that means."

"I know exactly what it means," I growled.

The door to my office slammed open, and Chief Miller—the man whose name was currently being screamed by the mob outside—stumbled in. He was a mess. His uniform was disheveled, his face a sickly shade of grey. He looked like a man who had already been measured for his coffin.

"Dante, you have to do something!" Miller shrieked, clutching the edge of my desk. "The mob is at my house! My wife, my kids—they’re trapped inside! You promised me protection! You promised that the expansion would be handled!"

I looked at him—this pathetic, greedy little man who had sold his city for a few million in Syndicate gold. A week ago, I would have felt a flicker of pity. Now, I felt nothing but a cold, heavy void where my humanity used to be. The wolf was sitting right behind my eyes, its teeth bared at the weakness in the room.

"You were paid to keep the peace, Miller," I said, my voice dropping to a low, lethal resonance. "You were paid to make sure the zoning overrides went through without a whisper. Instead, you let a girl from the slums walk into the vault and take everything."

"I didn't let her!" he sobbed. "She’s a witch! She has powers we can't—"

"I don't care about your excuses," I snapped. I stood up, my height looming over him until he shrank back. "The Council wants blood. The people want justice. And as of ten minutes ago, the Syndicate no longer has a use for a Chief of Police who is a liability."

"What... what are you saying?" Miller’s eyes went wide.

I looked at Enzo. My brother’s expression was grim. He knew what had to happen. In the old world, we would have tucked Miller away in a safehouse, let the heat die down, and bought him a new life in the South. But that world was gone. Marisol had burned it.

"I'm saying the secret stays in this room," I whispered.

I moved with a speed that blurred the air. My hand closed around Miller’s throat, lifting him off the ground before he could let out a single cry. He thrashed, his hands clawing at my wrist, but I felt like I was made of iron.

I looked into his eyes—the terrified, bulging eyes of a man realizing his life was just a line item on a ledger.

"Dante," Enzo said softly, a warning in his voice. "You don't have to do this yourself."

"Yes, I do," I gritted out.

I needed to feel the life leave him. I needed to punish someone for the chaos, for the fire, for the way my heart felt like it was being ripped out of my chest every time I thought of Mari.

I leaned in, my wolf’s gold bleeding into my pupils. "Tell the devil that the Alpha King sent you," I hissed.

I tightened my grip. The sound of his neck snapping was loud in the silent office—a sharp, final crack that echoed off the glass walls. I held him for a second longer, watching the light fade, then I dropped him like a piece of trash.

The body hit the rug with a dull thud.

I stared at my hands. They were steady. No tremor. No regret. Just a cold, terrifying satisfaction. I was losing the man I used to be, piece by piece, and replacing him with a monster that only knew how to survive.

"Get him out of here," I told Enzo, not looking at him. "Clean the room. I want the press to find him in an alley near the docks. Make it look like the mob got him."

Enzo hesitated, then nodded. He signaled for two cleaners to enter. As they dragged Miller’s body away, I walked to the window and pressed my forehead against the cool glass.

"She’s winning, Enzo," I whispered.

"Only if you let her," a new voice said.

I spun around. Sloane was standing in the doorway. She looked immaculate, as if the city outside wasn't currently on fire. She wore a deep crimson suit that looked like dried blood, and her eyes were as cold as a winter morning. Behind her stood Silas and three members of the High Council.

"Get out, Enzo," Silas commanded.

Enzo looked at me. I gave him a curt nod. He hesitated, then filed out, closing the heavy doors behind him.

"You’ve turned our city into a bonfire, Dante," Silas said, walking to the center of the room. He didn't look at the spot where Miller had died, but I knew he could smell the death in the air. "The humans are calling for the abolition of the Syndicate. The Vein is reacting to the unrest. And the Vega girl is being hailed as a saint in the streets."

"I am handling it," I said, my teeth bared.

"Handling it?" Sloane laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. She walked toward me, her heels clicking like a countdown. "You executed a Chief of Police in your office because you're too weak to execute the woman who actually caused this. You’re compromised, Dante. The Council has seen the footage from the vault. They saw the way you looked at her. They saw the 'Alpha-Mate' clearance."

"I will find her," I growled.

"No, you won't," Silas said. "Because as of this moment, the Council has revoked your individual authority. We are initiating the 'Purification.' The Silver Sentinels are being moved into the Cauldron with orders to shoot on sight. Every man, woman, and child associated with the covens will be erased."

"You do that, and the city will burn to the ground!" I roared.

"It’s already burning!" Silas shouted back. "And it’s because you refused to marry the woman who could have stabilized your bloodline. You chose a gutter-witch over the Syndicate. And now, the Syndicate is choosing for you."

Sloane stepped into my space, her face a mask of cold ambition. She reached out and smoothed the lapel of my shirt, her touch feeling like a viper’s crawl.

"We’ve made a decision, Dante," she whispered. "The only way to save the Valerius name is a public display of unity. We need a wedding. Tomorrow morning. The High District Cathedral. We will broadcast it to the whole city. A King and his Queen, standing firm against the chaos."

"I'd rather die," I spat.

"Oh, we know," Sloane said, her smile turning sharp and cruel. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. "But it's not your life that's on the line, my love."

She gestured toward the monitors on the wall. A new feed appeared.

It was a holding cell in the sub-levels of the tower—the "Black Box." Enzo was being shoved into the room by four Silver Sentinels. He was handcuffed with silver-infused iron, the metal already burning his skin.

"Enzo?" I lunged for the screen, but Silas stepped in my way, his hand on his dagger.

"He’s been arrested for treason, Dante," Silas said calmly. "For aiding and abetting the Alpha’s negligence. For failing to report the 'truce' at the docks. He’s a dead man walking."

"Let him go," I whispered, the Alpha’s fury building in my chest until I thought my heart would explode. "He had nothing to do with this."

"He lives only if the Syndicate survives," Sloane said, her eyes locked on mine. "Marry me tomorrow, Dante. Give the Council the 'Purification' they want. Sign the orders to level the Cauldron as your first act as a husband. Do that, and Enzo is released to the Southern borders."

She stepped back, her hand lingering on my chest for one last, mocking second.

"Refuse..." she paused, her voice turning into a cold, flat line. "And Enzo is executed at dawn. And then, Dante, the Council will come for you. And they won't be as patient as I’ve been."

I stood in the center of the room, the sounds of the rioting city muffled by the thick glass. I looked at my brother on the screen—the only person who had ever truly had my back. Then I thought of Marisol. I thought of the way she’d looked in the woods, the way her magic felt like a part of my own soul.

To save my brother, I had to kill her home.

To save the Syndicate, I had to marry a woman I loathed.

I was the Alpha King, and I had never been more of a prisoner.

"Dante?" Silas asked, his hand tightening on the scroll of the Purification. "What is your answer?"

I looked at the body of the Police Chief, then at the fire in the streets, and finally at Sloane’s triumphant face. My humanity didn't just flicker then; it went out. The void in my chest turned into a solid, obsidian wall.

"Get the dress ready," I rasped, my voice sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a grave.

Sloane’s smile was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen. "I knew you’d see reason, darling."

They filed out of the room, leaving me alone in the dark. I walked back to the window. In the distance, I could see the Low Quarter. I could see the flickering lights of the botanica.

I reached out with the bond, one last time. I didn't send love. I didn't send a warning. I just felt her. I felt her fire, her rage, her hope.

"I'm sorry, Mari," I whispered, a single tear of blood tracking down my cheek as I shifted for the last time before the wedding.

The tension didn't come from the mob. It didn't come from the council. It came from the phone on my desk, which vibrated with a text from an unknown number.

I picked it up. It was a photo.

It was a photo of Mateo, standing in a dark tunnel, his eyes glowing a solid, terrifying violet. He was holding a piece of the Corazón, and behind him, the very earth was beginning to crack.

The caption was three words:

“He’s not coming.”

I looked at the screen, then at the city, and realized the war I was fighting wasn't the one that was going to end us.

The Vein had finally found its King. And it wasn't me.