Chapter 5 - The Glass and the Steel
Dante didn't hesitate. He didn't ask for proof. He didn't raise his voice.
He simply set his crystal wine glass down on the table with a soft, deliberate clack.
"Marco," Dante said smoothly.
Marco jumped, his face turning the color of ash. "Y-Yes, Boss?"
"Stand up."
"Dante, what is this?" Carlo interjected, his tone rising with forced indignation. "We’re in the middle of discussing the ship manifests for next week—"
"I said stand up, Marco," Dante repeated, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper that sent shivers down my spine.
Marco trembled, his chair scraping loudly against the marble floor as he pushed himself up. "Boss, I swear, whatever she said—"
"Show me your right forearm," Dante commanded.
"What?!"
"Vance," Dante called out.
Before Marco could make a move, Vance appeared behind his chair, grabbing Marco’s right arm with a vise-like grip and yanked his silk suit sleeve up to his elbow.
Wrapped around Marco’s forearm was a thick, freshly applied white medical bandage.
The dining room went deathly silent.
"Titan didn't just stand there when someone cut him," I spoke up, my voice steady despite the terror thrumming through my blood. "He bit back. The laceration on Titan’s shoulder was from a blade, but the puncture marks under Marco's bandage match a ninety-pound bite pressure."
Marco broke.
He reached inside his suit jacket with his free left hand, pulling a compact black revolver from his holster.
Women in the room didn't scream, because there were no women—only hardened mobsters who instantly drew their own weapons.
"Dante, he’s going to kill us all!" Marco shrieked, pointing the barrel directly at Dante’s chest. "Carlo said you were soft! He said you were letting the business rot!"
Titan didn't bark.
He moved like a black lightning strike.
A hundred and ten pounds of pure muscle launched off the marble floor, clearing the corner of the table in a single split-second leap. Titan’s jaws clamped hard around Marco’s left wrist before the man could pull the trigger.
BANG!
A gunshot shattered the crystal chandelier overhead, sending sparkling glass raining down like ice across the dining table.
Marco screamed in absolute agony as Titan brought him crashing down onto the floor, pinning him under his massive chest. The revolver clattered across the marble, spinning right to Dante’s feet.
Dante stood up calmly. He didn't even look at the gun. He stepped around the broken glass, stood over the writhing traitor, and looked down with pure, unadulterated coldness.
"Titan," I called out softly, keeping my tone gentle, holding up my hand with the palm facing down. "Easy, boy. Release."
Titan’s jaws loosened instantly. He backed away two paces, returning to my side, his tail giving a short, guarded thump against my leg as I patted his head.
The mobsters around the table stared at me in complete, jaw-dropping shock. A twenty-two-year-old girl had just disarmed a hitman using a single hand signal and a killer pit bull.
Dante reached into his pocket, pulled out a white silk handkerchief, and wiped a speck of dust off his shoe.
"Vance," Dante said quietly. "Take Marco down to the wine cellar. Find out how much Carlo paid him to leak the port manifests."
"It was Carlo! It was all Carlo!" Marco sobbed from the floor, clutching his shattered wrist. "He gave me twenty grand to cut the dog so the hit squad could get into the study!"
Carlo stood frozen near his chair, his hand hovering near his own waistline.
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Dante turned slowly, his dark eyes locking onto his cousin.
"Carlo," Dante whispered, his voice smooth as silk and cold as a grave. "You have thirty seconds to explain why I shouldn't feed you to my dog piece by piece."
