Chapter Ninety-eight – Chains Abroad
Chapter Ninety-eight – Chains Abroad
Rinaldi gave a small, mocking smile. “You can’t kill an idea.”
Dante didn’t reply. He stepped forward, fast and steady. Rinaldi’s hand twitched toward the drawer behind him, but Dante was quicker. The gunshot was short and sharp.
The glass on the table cracked from the sound. Rinaldi stumbled back, eyes wide, then fell.
The guards outside shouted something, then silence followed.
Dante walked to the body, looked down once, then pulled a white napkin from the desk and wiped his gun.
He placed the napkin over Rinaldi’s chest and whispered, “You should’ve stayed out of it.”
\---
When he stepped outside, one of the guards was still standing there, shaking. The other had already bolted.
Dante looked at him. “Go home. You didn’t see anything.”
The man nodded quickly and backed away.
Dante got into his car, started the engine, and drove.
The streets blurred by, but his mind stayed sharp. He didn’t feel relief or guilt — just the familiar cold that always followed.
He reached the safehouse a little after noon. Marco was waiting near the door.
“You did it,” Marco said quietly.
Dante didn’t answer.
“Boss,” Marco said again. “You did it, didn’t you?”
Dante gave a short nod.
Isabella came out of the hallway, eyes sharp. “You couldn’t wait, could you?”
“He was already gone,” Dante said simply.
She crossed her arms. “You think this helps?”
“It sends a message.”
“Yeah,” she said dryly. “That you’re reckless.”
Marco looked between them. “The Consortium will know. Rinaldi wasn’t small-time.”
“I know,” Dante said.
“So what now?” Marco asked.
“We wait. They’ll come to us.”
Isabella muttered something under her breath and walked into the other room, slamming the door behind her.
Marco sighed. “She’s right, you know. You’re poking a hornet’s nest.”
“I’ve been doing that my whole life.”
Marco gave him a long look. “Yeah, but this time, they’re bigger than hornets.”
Dante didn’t answer.
\---
A few hours later, there was a knock on the door — three short taps, then a pause. Marco went to check the peephole.
“It’s one of ours,” he said, unlocking it.
A man stumbled in, blood staining the side of his shirt. Dante caught him before he fell.
“What happened?” Dante asked.
The man gasped for air. “They found us… the others are gone.”
“Who?”
“The Consortium’s cleanup team.”
Dante’s grip tightened. “Where?”
“Warehouse… by the docks.”
The man coughed, blood on his lips. Marco grabbed a towel, pressing it against the wound.
“Stay with me,” Dante said.
The man shook his head weakly. “Too late.”
“Tell me what you saw.”
The man’s eyes were glassy, his breathing uneven. “They were looking… for her.”
“Who?” Dante pressed.
The man swallowed hard. “Your sister’s twin… she lives.”
Dante froze. “What did you say?”
The man’s hand fell limp.
Marco looked at Dante. “What the hell does that mean?”
Dante didn’t move. “It means my mom was right.”
“Geneva?” Marco asked.
Dante stood up slowly. “We’re not done yet.”
He walked to the window and stared out at the street below. His mind was spinning, but his face stayed calm.
Behind him, Marco said quietly, “You think it’s true?”
“I know it is.”
He picked up his gun and checked the chamber. “Tell Isabella we’re leaving soon.”
“Where to?” Marco asked.
“Wherever the trail leads next.”
Marco hesitated. “You sure about this?”
soon..
“I’ve never been surer."
Isabella came out of the other room, hearing the last part. “You heard something, didn’t you?”
Dante turned to her. “She’s alive.”
Her eyes widened. “Geneva?”
He nodded once.
For the first time in a long while, Isabella didn’t have anything to say. She just stared at him, realizing what it meant — what it would cost.
Dante put the gun in his holster, his expression hard again. “Pack up. We move before sunset.”
“Where?” she asked.
“Across the sea,” he said.
They landed before dawn and took the last train. The city was grey and smelled of diesel and wet stone. Bianca walked with the same calm she always carried, but Giulia’s hands shook every time she adjusted the strap of her bag. They moved fast through narrow streets, asking for directions in hushed voices and handing over a few bills when someone looked useful.
“Are you sure this is him?” Giulia asked for the tenth time.
Bianca kept her eyes on the map on her phone. “Yes. He lives on the edge of the port district now. Old men like him don’t disappear. They hide.”
They found the general in a low building that used to be a shipbroker's office. The landlord had been paid two nights’ rent in cash and a firm look. Bianca slipped a small envelope across the man’s table and the landlord closed his mouth like a trap. He pointed to a back door and mouthed the number of the floor.
Giulia’s heart beat hard as they climbed the stairs. She wanted to run. She wanted to tear the man apart. Instead she walked in with Bianca at her side and a steady face.