One Hundred & Eight

One Hundred & Eight
Dante nodded and entered the office. The space was dark wood and glass, the desk clean except for a single folder lying open. Inside were photographs, names, numbers….the bones of a plan that had been sharpening for weeks.

Luciano’s face stared up at him from the paper, a smug smile frozen in print.

“He’s the first,” Dante said.

Nico didn’t ask why. He already knew. Luciano was the easiest and a direct hit to the De Lucas, the one who’d whispered to the enemies, taken the money, and bought his way out of loyalty.

“The Ravanelli brothers will handle the extraction,” Nico said. “They’ll bring him in before noon.”

Dante’s hand rested on the desk, knuckles tightening. “Alive. I want him alive.”

Nico gave a short nod. “Understood.”

There was silence for a while. The only sound was the ticking clock and the distant noise of the city beyond the windows.

Dante’s gaze shifted toward the door...  toward the hall that led back to Elena. He could almost hear her laughter still, the soft rustle of sheets, the promise in her voice. He let that memory settle inside him like a heartbeat. It steadied him. It reminded him of what he was fighting for and what he could lose if he failed.

He straightened, every trace of softness gone. The man who had smiled over breakfast vanished; what remained was the cold, deliberate force that the city feared.

“The morning’s over,” he said quietly. “Let’s begin.”

Nico didn’t hesitate. He turned, already dialing. Orders were being given before the door even closed behind him.

Dante walked to the window. The sunlight had changed again.… no longer gold, but white and sharp. It cut across the floor like a blade.

He thought of Elena upstairs, sleeping again maybe, her hand curled on the pillow where he’d sat. He thought of the promise he’d made to come home.

He would keep it.

Even if he had to burn a kingdom to do so.

He turned away from the light, his coat falling around him like a shadow, and walked out of the office.

Outside, the engines were already waiting.

And somewhere in the city, Luciano’s time was running out.

They found Luciano where men like him liked to hide behind glass, smoke, and money.
It was late morning at the private club, the kind of place where the waiters moved like ghosts and the curtains were thick enough to keep the world outside. Luciano sat at his usual table, drinking whiskey for breakfast, his laughter loud and hollow.  Who would have thought he would be this unguarded. Arrogance  was his armor; money his illusion.

Marco had been watching him for days. Patience was Marco’s art….  His men blended into the city, invisible and exact. When they moved, they moved like one thing.

Two men walked through the club doors that morning….plain suits, calm faces, nothing to remember. Luciano barely looked up until one of them caught his arm. The second moved behind him, smooth as a shadow. The chair tipped, the glass spilled.

It was over before the whiskey stopped rolling on the floor.

No noise, no warning. Just the sound of breath being taken and the scrape of leather against marble. Luciano’s curses filled the small space, wild and desperate. But no one looked. The other patrons sipped their drinks and stared at their plates. Everyone in that club knew what it meant to survive…. and survival meant silence.

Luciano was carried out through the back door, the morning sun sharp and too bright for what waited. A car waited in the alley.… black, clean, tinted. They pushed him inside.

Nico drove.

Dante sat in the back, hands folded, face carved from stone.

Luciano’s voice cracked as he fought the restraints. “Dante! How… Hey buddy how are you.?

Dante’s eyes lifted just once, cool and slow. “Buddy? Last time I checked we weren't buddies.”

The car began to move. The city passed by in blurs of color and noise. Luciano screamed for the first ten minutes.…threats, bargains, names he thought might save him. Then his voice thinned. The truth came like cold water.…he wasn’t in control anymore.

When they reached the Ravanelli safe house, the world changed. It wasn’t a house in the ordinary sense.…it was a stone shell built for things the city wasn’t meant to see. Thick walls, dark windows, rooms that swallowed sound.

Luciano was dragged inside, the click of his shoes echoing against the tile. The air smelled of iron and dust. They stripped him of his watch, his phone, his ring...all the symbols he thought meant power.

The Ravanelli brothers waited by the door.
Antonio…  tall, silent, his arms crossed.
Marco...lean, restless, his eyes sharp and bright.

Dante stood in the center of the room. A single lamp burned overhead, casting a circle of light around him.

Luciano was pushed to his knees. His breath came hard, his shirt torn, the air heavy with sweat and fear.

“Dante,” he said, his voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this.”

Dante didn’t move. “No. I don’t have to.”

“Then let me go.”

“I choose not to.”

Luciano swallowed, his throat working like someone trying to breathe water. “You’re angry. I get it. But you…”

Dante cut in, his tone smooth, quiet. “You remember the last time we stood like this, Luciano?”

Luciano froze. His eyes flicked up. “What…”

“Do you remember what I said?”

He did.
And the memory came back like a wound reopening.

Dante stepped closer, the light catching the edge of his face. “I told you that if you or that sister of yours ever came near Elena again, I would make you wish you hadn’t been born.”

Luciano’s breath hitched. He tried to look away. “That's in the past buddy. You can’t still…”

“I warned you,” Dante said, voice steady. “And then I let you live.”

Luciano’s mind flashed... the old warehouse, the blood, the pain in his eyes. He remembered the knife, the way Dante had pressed it close enough to draw tears and blood, whispering that mercy was a gift that came once. Only once.

He had thought Dante was bluffing. He had thought time would cool him.

Now, seeing him like this... still, expressionless, dangerous... he knew how wrong he’d been.

Luciano shook his head. “Dante, please. You don’t understand….”

“I understand perfectly,” Dante interrupted. “You and your sister thought you could hurt what's mine. You used Elena’s name. You made her a mockery in the eyes of the public. You opened the door to people who would’ve killed her.”

He stepped closer. The space between them felt colder now.

Luciano looked up, face pale. “It was… was mistake... We… you know Sofia she's obsessed with you.. I.. Dante please… we were brothers once.”

“Brothers,” Dante said softly. “You killed my brother. You killed Corvo for that you'll pay.”

The words hung heavy. Even the air seemed to stop moving.