Chapter 99 Release Sienna
Dante drove without seeing the road.
His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that the leather dug into his skin. His jaw was locked. His breath came sharp and uneven.
He didn’t care about the speed limit. He didn’t care about the horns behind him.
He didn’t care about anything except getting answers.
Varon Motors loomed in front of him like a quiet monster, tall, calm, and cold. Just like Jean-Paul Varon.
Dante parked recklessly and got out.
Employees greeted him as he passed, bowing slightly, smiling politely.
He didn’t respond. Not even a nod.
He walked straight into the building, straight to the elevator, and hit the top floor button hard.
His reflection in the elevator doors stared back at him.
He barely recognized his own eyes.
It was filled with fear and rage.
At the top floor, the elevator doors slid open.
Jean-Paul’s secretary shot up from her seat. “Sir, you can’t go in right now Mr. Varon is in a meeting.”
Dante didn’t slow down.
He didn’t even look at her.
“Sir! You can’t!”
He opened the door anyway. His father sat behind the massive oak desk. Isabelle sat on the chair beside him, legs crossed, her face sour, and her eyes full of fake sadness.
Both of them looked up when Dante entered.
Jean-Paul didn’t smile. He didn’t even flinch. He simply stared at his son with cold disappointment.
“What,” Jean-Paul said, “was so important that you missed the appointment with your wife’s wedding dress designer?”
Wife?
The word burned Dante’s ears.
Isabelle lifted her chin proudly, as if she enjoyed hearing it.
Dante said nothing.
Jean-Paul continued, voice growing harder. “And why did you hit Isabelle? Because of that wretched doctor girl?”
Dante’s fists curled instantly.
Before his father could say anything else, Dante spoke.
“What do you gain,” he said quietly, “from kidnapping Sienna?”
The room froze.
Isabelle’s mouth fell open. “What?!”
Jean-Paul blinked. “What nonsense are you saying?”
“Don’t pretend,” Dante said, his voice cracking from how tightly he was forcing it to stay calm. “She’s gone. Taken from the supermarket. Your men took her.”
Jean-Paul slammed his palm on the desk. “Watch your tone!”
“Why?” Dante snapped. “Scared someone might hear the truth?”
Isabelle stood up, pointing at him. “How dare you come in here accusing your own father?! You’re obsessed! You’re losing your mind because of that..”
“Shut up.” Dante didn’t raise his voice, but the coldness in it sliced through the room. “Sit down, or leave. I came to talk to my father, not you.”
Isabelle stared at him, shocked. Then furious and humiliated.
She looked to Jean-Paul for support.
But Jean-Paul only said, “Sit, Isabelle.”
Slowly, stiffly, she did.
Her lips were pressed so tightly they almost disappeared.
Her eyes were full of hatred.
“Good,” Dante thought. “Hate me all you want. I hate you too.”
Jean-Paul exhaled through his nose like he was dealing with a stubborn child.
“Now,” his father said slowly, “answer my question. Why did you hit Isabelle? And why are you ignoring your fiancée? Are you trying to avoid taking responsibility for your behavior?”
Dante stared at him.He wanted to laugh. A bitter, angry laugh.
But he forced the emotion down.
“So the wedding,” Dante said softly, “is more important to you than the life you ruined.”
Jean-Paul’s brows drew together. “What life?”
“Sienna’s.”
Jean-Paul scoffed loudly. “That girl has nothing to do with me.”
“She’s missing,” Dante said. “Because of you.”
He stepped closer to the desk.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing. I don’t know what you hoped to achieve by taking her. But listen carefully.”
His voice dropped, trembling from fury.
“Release Sienna before tomorrow morning or be ready to stand as the main suspect.”
Isabelle gasped. “Are you threatening your own father for that pathetic girl?!”
Dante didn’t even look at her.
He stared straight at Jean-Paul.
“You have until morning,” he said again.
His father’s eyes narrowed. “You’re making a mistake, Dante.”
“Not as big as the one you made.”
Dante turned around.
He didn’t wait for a reply. He didn’t care if Isabelle shouted, screamed, or cried.
He didn’t care if Jean-Paul cursed him.
He walked out.
He pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway.
“Dante, what are you doing?”
Dante froze. He recognized the voice.
Slowly he turned his head.
Luca stood behind him in the hallway, one hand casually in his pocket, the other holding his phone. His expression was calm for the weight of the situation.
For a second, Dante couldn’t speak. His mind was still tangled with anger, fear, and suspicion.
“How.” Dante swallowed. “How did you get here?”
Luca gave a small smile. “I have my ways.”
There was something strange about the smile. Not mocking. Not playful. Just unreadable. Like he was holding back more than he showed.
Dante stared at him. “You came all the way here?”
“Yes.” Luca stepped closer, lowering his voice so Jean-Paul’s secretary wouldn’t overhear. “I came to have a chat with our father.”
Dante blinked. Something in his chest tightened.
“Our father?” he repeated quietly.
Luca shrugged lightly. “Well, I had a few questions for him, maybe a little threat too. And I figured it was better to meet him here.”
Dante didn’t know how to respond. His head was still spinning from the confrontation inside the office. His pulse was still racing with fear for Sienna.
Luca noticed.
He placed a hand on Dante’s shoulder firmly, like he was grounding him.
“Dante,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
Dante lifted his eyes.
“Let’s talk,” Luca said. “Just you and me. Over a glass of wine.”
Dante hesitated, searching Luca’s face.
Trying to read him. Trying to understand why he looked so calm when everything felt like it was falling apart.
But there was something trustworthy in Luca’s eyes. Something steady. Something that didn’t match the chaos in Dante’s chest.
So Dante nodded slowly. “Fine.”
Luca squeezed his shoulder once, as if reassuring him. “Good. Let’s get out of here.”
Together, they walked toward the elevator.
Neither looked back. Neither said a word.
Dante kept replaying everything in his mind, the footage, the masked man, the bus, the missing plates, his father's cold face, and Isabelle’s fake tears. None of it made sense.
But Luca’s presence beside him brought a strange quiet to his thoughts.
When the elevator doors slid open, they stepped in side by side.
The moment the doors closed, Dante finally exhaled.
He didn’t know where things were going.
He didn’t know what Luca wanted to say.
He didn’t know why Luca had come all the way to Varon Motors.
But one thing was clear.
This talk was going to change something.
Maybe everything.
They walked out of the building together, the afternoon light hitting them as the glass doors slid shut behind them.
Luca adjusted his watch and nodded toward the parking lot.
“Let’s go,” he said. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Dante swallowed hard.
And followed him.