One Hundred & Thirteen

One Hundred & Thirteen
The rain still hadn’t stopped.
Elena’s car pulled into the mansion, tires hissing against the wet cobblestones. She stepped out slowly, the storm wind catching her hair, her hands trembling only slightly…. though her heart was still pounding from what she’d just done.

The guards bowed silently as she passed.
Every man in that compound had seen the fire in her eyes earlier; none dared speak now.

Inside, the hall lights burned low. The silence of the place wrapped around her like a second skin.

When she entered Dante’s office, he was waiting… standing by the tall windows, a single glass of whiskey in hand, watching the rain streak the glass. He didn’t turn when she came in.

“Did you…?” he said quietly.

Elena’s voice was calm but heavy. “She’s alive.”

Dante turned then, his eyes finding hers. “That’s more mercy than I would have given.”

“I didn’t do it for mercy,” she said, stepping closer. “I did it so she can understand. So she can feel fear… the same kind she gave me.”

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and Dante set his glass down, closing the distance between them. His hand came up, brushing a strand of wet hair from her cheek.

“You shouldn’t have had to see that,” he murmured. “Not you.”

She looked up at him.…eyes tired, but steady. “You think I’m still that girl you met, Dante? The one who couldn’t hold herself without shaking from fear?”

His lips twitched faintly. “No,” he said, voice low. “You’re worse than me now.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “You made me this way.”

He didn’t deny it.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The storm outside raged, thunder echoing through the thick stone walls.

Finally, Dante said softly, “Go upstairs. Rest. I’ll finish this.”

Elena hesitated, studying him...the quiet rage in his eyes, the cold calculation that had always made him dangerous. “What are you going to do?”

He brushed his thumb against her jaw. “Something you shouldn’t have to watch.”

Her hand caught his wrist. “Don’t kill her yet,” she said. “Not until we’ve stripped her of everything.… her money, her name, her pride.”

His gaze softened slightly proud, admiring. “ Yes, My queen,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Turning away, he picked up his coat and headed for the lower hall toward the soundproof chamber where Sofia waited.

The door groaned open, spilling light into the dark room.
Sofia sat slumped in the chair where Elena had left her, wrists bound again, blood dried along her arm. Her face was pale, eyes glassy from exhaustion.

When she saw Dante step through the door, her body jerked with anger and pain.
Her breath hitched. “Bull… shit, What have you come here to do. To gloat. You just can't stay dead can you Danny?”

Dante smiled coldly, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. “The thing about death, Sofia,” he said softly, “is it only sticks when you deserve it.”

He took off his gloves and laid them on the table beside a collection of gleaming instruments... blades, pliers, wires, and one silver syringe.

Sofia’s chair scraped back as she tried to move. “You're… you're not going to hurt me right?” she gasped. “Remember what we….

“Oh, please I don't have time to go down memory lane but if we should then let's see,” Dante interrupted. “You framed me for murder. You made my wife mourn me. You tried to destroy the only thing in this world that still felt pure.”

He crouched in front of her, their faces inches apart. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

“You made her bleed. You made her cry. You made a mockery of her.”

Sofia flinched as he reached for the knife.…not the sharp one, but the thin surgical blade meant for precision.

“I warned you… but being nice with you was a mistake,” he continued. “Right now I really don't care Sofia… you were spoilt rotten.. You have no empathy… You have no soul.. I don’t even want an apology. I just want you to remember this feeling…. every second.… for the rest of your miserable life.”

He pressed the blade lightly against her cheek, tracing a slow line down to her jaw. A bead of blood appeared, sliding down her skin. She whimpered, shaking.

“Dante, please….”

He tilted his head slightly, as though listening. “That’s what Corvo said,” he whispered. “Right before you had him shot.”

Her eyes widened in horror.

“Did you know he died calling my name?” Dante went on, his voice calm, conversational, almost gentle. “You made him bait, and you made me watch him die.”

He stood then, setting the knife down.
“You don’t deserve a quick death, Sofia.”

He gestured to the guards at the door. “Lock her up in the lower cell. No light, no food. She’ll beg for the dark to end.”

As they dragged her away, Sofia screamed... her voice echoing off the concrete walls until it faded into sobs and silence.

Dante turned, exhaling slowly, staring at the blood-stained blade glinting under the light.
He poured himself a drink from the small table, took one swallow, and muttered to himself —

“Two down.”

Elena sat by the window, wrapped in one of Dante’s shirts, the rain still whispering against the glass. She felt the storm easing... the world outside settling after chaos.

When Dante entered, his coat wet again, she looked up immediately.

“It’s done?” she asked quietly.

He nodded once. “She’ll live. For now. She still needs to suffer more. This is just the beginning.”

Elena’s gaze drifted to the floor. “And Victor?”

He stepped behind her, his hands sliding gently over her shoulders. “Next,” he said simply.

Elena closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “Then it’s over,” she whispered.

“No,” Dante said, voice deep, almost tender. “Then it begins. I will strip them of everything... Peace… stability until they feel empty.”

Thunder rolled far away again…. distant now, almost like a promise.