Chapter 5 - The Counter-Strike
By 8:00 a.m., the Gold Coast mansion was waking up to its usual deceptive routine of luxury and calm.
Sunlight poured through the massive French windows, sparkling off the waters of Lake Michigan and temporarily banishing the gloom that had hung over my room for months.
I was sitting upright in a tailored charcoal suit—the first time I had worn anything other than pajamas in three months. Though my skin remained slightly pale, the fog in my brain had cleared entirely, replaced by the razor-sharp clarity of a man preparing for war.
Elena stood by my desk, quietly organizing a stack of corporate and medical files.
“Are you sure about this, Dante?” she asked, looking up with genuine concern. “Confronting Marcus Vance and Vanessa in the main study... what if they have security outside?”
“My security answers to me, Elena, not to Vanessa,” I said, adjusting my cuffs. “For the past three months, Vanessa made sure to slowly replace my personal detail with guards loyal to her father’s shipping conglomerate. But she didn't count on one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The old guard,” I replied with a grim smile. “The men who bled with me on the South Side before we moved to the Gold Coast. They still patrol the perimeter. And I sent word to Luca at dawn.”
As if on cue, two heavy knocks sounded on the study door.
“Enter,” I commanded.
The door pushed open, and Luca Moretti—my cousin and chief enforcer, a hulking bear of a man with a broken nose and eyes like chipped flint—stepped into the room. Behind him stood two of my most trusted capos from the downtown districts.
Luca stopped dead in his tracks, staring at me sitting behind the mahogany desk instead of lying helpless in bed.
“Boss?” Luca breathed, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his scarred face. “Holy hell. You’re back.”
“I was never gone, Luca. I was just sleeping,” I said, standing up and buttoning my suit jacket. “Did you secure the perimeter as I asked?”
“Locked down tighter than Fort Knox,” Luca reported, cracking his knuckles with satisfaction. “No one in, no one out. And I intercepted Marcus Vance’s corporate courier twenty minutes ago before he could reach the front gates. Got the asset transfer papers right here.”
Luca tossed a thick leather folder onto my desk.
I opened it. Inside were dozens of pages of legal documents, pre-drafted and waiting for my signature—a complete surrender of voting rights, real estate deeds, and offshore accounts to Vanessa and her father.
At the bottom of the signature page, Marcus Vance’s initials were scribbled in neat, arrogant cursive.
“Where is Vanessa right now?” I asked coldly.
“She’s having breakfast in the solarium with Marcus,” Luca said. “They’re celebrating. Heard them talking about booking a flight to Zurich for next Tuesday, right after the 'medical transfer of power' was finalized.”
May you like
I picked up the sealed glass jar containing my poisoned drinking water, along with Dr. Harris’s preliminary lab notes, and placed them neatly in front of me.
“Luca, go down to the solarium. Tell my lovely fiancée and my esteemed CFO that the meeting has been moved up,” I instructed, my voice dropping into a tone that made even my hardened cousin shiver. “Tell them Dante Moretti is ready to sign the papers... right now.”
