Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Glass
The basement beneath the Moretti garage was built like a bunker—concrete walls three feet thick, heavy steel doors, and zero light from the outside world.
Elena sat in Dante’s private study on the second floor, wrapped in a heavy cashmere blanket he had placed around her shoulders before leaving. She couldn't sleep. The warmth of the fire, the luxury of the room, the scent of cedar and dark tobacco that lingered on his furniture—it felt like a dream she was afraid to wake up from.
Downstairs, the heavy steel door of the holding cell slammed shut.
Cassian was tied to a heavy oak chair in the center of the concrete room. His face was already bruised from his struggle with Leo’s men, but his eyes were still arrogant. He wore an expensive leather jacket, and a sinister smirk played on his bloodied lips as Dante walked into the room, flanked by Leo and two armed guards.
"Moretti," Cassian spat, coughing up a speck of blood onto the gray floor. "You're making a massive mistake. You know who I work for. You know what Commissioner Vance will do if I don't check in by five in the morning."
Dante didn't answer right away. He pulled up a folding chair, turned it backward, and sat down opposite Cassian. He rested his forearms on the back of the chair, casually crossing his hands.
"Tell me, Cassian," Dante said smoothly, his voice devoid of anger, "how long have you worked for Julian Vance?"
"Eight years," Cassian sneered. "Long enough to know he owns every judge from Albany to Manhattan. You think you're safe out here in the Midwest? Vance will choke your supply lines at the ports. He'll put federal marshals on every one of your legitimate businesses."
"He might try," Dante agreed mildly. "But that's a problem for tomorrow. Right now, I have a much more immediate concern."
Dante leaned forward slightly. The dim light of the overhead bulb caught the razor-sharp contours of his face.
"Four hours ago, you stood near my south gate," Dante whispered. "You laid your hand on Elena Voss. You struck her face so hard you split her skin and shattered her jawline."
Cassian’s smirk flickered for a fraction of a second, then widened into a cruel grin. "The bitch belongs to Vance. She's damaged goods, Moretti. She's a runaway maid. Vance told me if she gave me any trouble, I should remind her of her place. I was just delivering a message."
Dante didn't flinch. He slowly stood up from the chair.
"Which hand?" Dante asked.
Cassian blinked, confused. "What?"
"Which hand did you use to hit her?" Dante repeated, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "Right or left?"
"Go to hell, Moretti—"
Dante didn't waste another word. In a motion so fast it was almost impossible to follow, Dante reached out, grabbed Cassian’s right wrist, and slammed it flat against the steel armrest of the chair. Before Cassian could pull away, Dante pulled a heavy tactical knife from Leo’s belt and drove the solid steel pommel down onto Cassian’s knuckles with terrifying, calculated force.
A sickening crack echoed off the concrete walls, followed instantly by a blood-curdling scream from Cassian that died in his throat as Leo stepped forward and shoved a heavy leather gag into his mouth.
Cassian thrashed wildly against the ropes, tears of agony bursting from his eyes as his fingers lay mangled and shattered against the steel.
Dante stood over him, wiping his hands on a clean white handkerchief with cold precision.
"You're going back to New York tonight, Cassian," Dante said, looking down at the squirming man with absolute disgust. "Leo will put you on a private transport within the hour. You will walk into Julian Vance’s office on your own two feet, and you will give him my message."
Dante leaned down, his face inches from Cassian’s pale, sweat-slicked cheek.
"Tell Julian Vance that Elena Voss is under the personal protection of the Moretti family. Tell him if he ever sends another dog into my city, I will not send them back in one piece. I will send them back in a wooden box. And then I will come to New York, and I will rip his empire down stone by stone."
Dante straightened his spine, tossing the bloodied handkerchief onto Cassian’s lap.
"Get him out of my house," Dante ordered Leo.
Dante walked out of the basement, his heart beating with a steady, lethal rhythm. As he climbed the grand marble staircase back toward the master suite, he paused outside the door of his private library.
He pushed the door open softly.
Elena was fast asleep in the heavy leather armchair by the fire. The cashmere blanket had slipped down to her waist, revealing the delicate line of her throat and the dark bruise blooming across her cheek. She looked small, fragile, and utterly breathtaking against the dark wood and glowing firelight.
May you like
Dante walked over to her slowly. He reached down, gently pulled the blanket back up over her shoulders, and brushed a stray lock of dark chestnut hair away from her forehead.
"No one touches you again," he promised the empty room. "I swear it on my life."
