Dante sat in his apartment, staring at the gun on the table like it was a question he couldn’t answer.

It was clean, loaded, and ready. Just like him.

But his hands didn’t move.

He should’ve taken the shot last night. Matteo had been unguarded, half-drunk, showing off at the roulette table. An easy target. The kind Dante used to take without a second thought.

But she had changed everything!

Sofia Rossi. With her razor-sharp smile and eyes that saw too much.

He had danced with the devil’s sister and come out dazed.

Now, his head and heart were at war.

The deal was simple: kill Matteo Rossi, and he’d be free from Don Vellucci’s leash. A clean break after a decade of blood and silence.

But something about the whole setup stank.

Sofia wasn’t just some pretty distraction. She was too deliberate, too watchful. And Matteo? He’d never made such bold moves until recently. Dante smelled manipulation.

Someone was playing a deeper game.

And he was caught in the middle.

Across town, in a suite at the Grand Arcadia Hotel, Sofia slipped out of her heels and poured herself a drink.

Matteo’s rant still echoed in her ears—something about loyalty, territory, the old ways. He didn’t understand the bigger picture. Didn’t realize he was just a piece on her board.

But he would.

Soon.

She opened her laptop and checked the secure line. The message was there.

"Shipment intercepted. Blame on Rossi confirmed. No ties to us. -X."

Perfect.

She had leaked Vellucci’s drop-off schedule to an independent syndicate—small-time players with big ambitions. The cargo had vanished, and the whisper campaign had begun. All signs pointed to Matteo.

Don Vellucci would demand retribution.

And Dante Moretti, his deadly errand boy, would be sent to collect.

Only Dante wasn’t moving as quickly as she’d predicted. That complicated things. Not that she minded.

She hadn’t expected to like him.

But then again, she hadn’t expected to enjoy breaking her own rules either.

Dante leaned against the railing of a rooftop bar, whiskey in hand, trying to make sense of his instincts.

A decade ago, he’d been numb. Efficient. No second guesses.

Now, he found himself pacing mental circles, questioning the mission, the man who gave it, the woman complicating it all.

He watched the skyline—sharp edges, glittering lights, false promises. Just like the people running it.

A voice broke his thoughts.

“Boss wants to know why Rossi’s still breathing.”

Dante turned.

It was Enzo Santoro, Don Vellucci’s enforcer. Built like a slab of concrete, with a face carved by violence. He had loyalty tattooed across his knuckles and suspicion etched into every glance.

“Didn’t have a clean shot,” Dante said.

Enzo narrowed his eyes. “You’re slipping, Moretti.”

Dante offered a tight smile. “I’m being thorough.”

“That’s not what the Don pays you for.”

Dante took a long sip of his drink. “He pays me for results. He’ll get them.”

“Hope so,” Enzo muttered. “Because if he doesn’t… someone else will clean it up. And maybe clean you up along the way.”

He walked off, leaving the threat hanging in the air like smoke.

Sofia knew she was being followed.

She didn’t let it show.

She wore a long black coat and a silk scarf, blending into the late-night crowd near the harbor. Her heels clicked against the damp pavement as she passed shuttered shops and flickering neon signs.

She ducked into a narrow alley and climbed the stairs of an old meatpacking facility repurposed into a safehouse.

Behind her, the shadow kept pace.

Dante.

He should’ve confronted her.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he watched from the shadows as she entered a steel door guarded by two unfamiliar faces—tattoos, Slavic accents, Eastern syndicate. Not Vellucci allies. Not even Rossi’s known associates.

She was meeting with outsiders.

That confirmed it.

Sofia was no bystander in this war.

She was the one setting it in motion.

Dante’s jaw tightened. Everything in him screamed to walk away, let it play out. But he couldn’t.

Not anymore.

Not with the way she looked at him.

Not with the way he looked at her.

He had come here to kill a man. Instead, he’d fallen into a web spun by the man’s sister.

And it was tightening around his throat.