DO NOT PUT THAT NEEDLE INTO HIM!"" I screamed as I grabbed the insulin pen from the hand of São Paulo's most feared mafia boss's fiancée.

Vanessa choked against Dante’s grip, her feet kicking uselessly in the air, her face turning a mottled, desperate purple.

"Dante, wait," I said softly, laying my hand gently upon his forearm.

The moment my fingers touched his sleeve, the lethal madness in his eyes flickered. He glanced down at me, and that simple touch was enough to pull him back from the precipice of public execution.

"Don't give them a martyr," I murmured, loud enough only for him to hear. "Let them see her broken by the law of her own peers."

Dante exhaled slowly. With a flick of his wrist, he dropped Vanessa to the floor. She crumpled onto the silk of her mourning gown, coughing and gasping for air, her dignity completely shattered.

"Mateo," Dante said, turning his back on Vanessa to face his lieutenant.

Mateo was trembling now, the red laser dots on his chest perfectly steady. "Dante... please. It was Arthur. Arthur promised me the northern terminal. He told me you were already dying of a pancreatic disease! He showed me the medical records!"

"Dr. Silva’s records," Dante stated flatly. "The same Dr. Silva who just signed a full confession to the Federal Police twenty minutes ago in exchange for witness protection."

Mateo’s eyes widened in despair. "Dante, we were brothers—"

"Brothers don't take blood money from the men who murdered our uncle," Dante interrupted, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper.

A shockwave hit the room.

Dante pulled a leather-bound folder from his jacket and tossed it at the feet of the senior syndicate captains sitting at the front tables.

"Five years ago," Dante announced, his voice filling the hall with righteous wrath, "my uncle Paulo died of an unexplained heart attack in a private clinic in Rio. The attending physician was Dr. Arthur Albuquerque. The man who signed off on the transfer of the Santos shipping concessions to the Albuquerque conglomerate was Mateo Santos."

The eldest syndicate captain, an old man named Don Henrique, opened the folder with shaking hands. Inside were the banking records, wire transfers, and autopsy re-evaluations confirming the conspiracy.

Henrique looked up from the pages, his aged face hardened with ancient, uncompromising rage. He looked at Mateo, then at Vanessa, and finally at Dante.

"They broke the sacred pact," Henrique declared, his voice trembling with fury. "They used poison and deceit against the bloodline of the founders. They have no standing here. They have no protection."

"No! Uncle Arthur, do something!" Vanessa shrieked, crawling toward the side of the stage where Dr. Arthur Albuquerque had been standing in the shadows.

But Arthur wasn't looking at his niece. His eyes were wide with animal panic as two federal agents in dark suits, accompanied by four military police officers, stepped through the service entrance behind him.

"Dr. Arthur Albuquerque," the lead agent said, holding up a badge and a signed federal warrant. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, corporate espionage, falsification of medical records, and the unlawful trafficking of restricted pharmaceutical agents."

Dr. Albuquerque turned pale, his hands trembling as the handcuffs were clicked around his wrists. He looked at Dante with raw hatred. "You think you've won, Montenegro? The Albuquerque name owns the courts! We own the judges! I will be out on bail before breakfast!"

"You won't have time to post bail, Arthur," Dante replied coldly. "Because Don Henrique and the council have already signed the seizure orders for every asset your family owns in the state of São Paulo. By sunrise, you will not have enough money left to buy a bottle of water in Carandiru prison."

As the federal agents dragged Arthur Albuquerque away, screaming curses, Mateo made a desperate, suicidal move.

He whipped a hidden snub-nosed revolver from his ankle holster, pointing it directly at Dante’s heart.

"If I'm going down, you're coming with me!" Mateo roared.