Twisted Loyalty

Chapter 17: The Dark Side

Dante

The warehouse looms ahead, a grim reminder of how these things always end—one man standing, another left in pieces. Nico and the others are already in position when I pull up. The cold weight of the gun at my back feels more like a promise than a weapon, and my hands twitch with the need to finish this.

Nico walks over as I get out of the car, his face set in that tight, controlled expression he gets when he knows shit's about to go down. "He's inside. Alone. No one's come or gone since we got here," he says, his voice low.

I lean against the car, my eyes narrowing on the darkened windows of the warehouse. "Good," I mutter, pulling the gun from my waistband. I take out a cloth from my pocket, slowly wiping down the barrel, the motion methodical, deliberate. The feel of the cool metal under my hands is soothing in a way—an anchor to what's coming next.

Nico hands me a phone. "Here's his number. We found it when we dug through his records."

I give a curt nod, dialing Enzo's number as I keep wiping the gun down. The phone rings, the sound echoing in the stillness around us, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the anticipation. The world goes quiet. The air feels heavier, more loaded, as if even the night is waiting to see how this plays out.

The phone clicks, and there's a brief silence on the other end before Enzo's voice cuts through, dripping with irritation. "Who the fuck is this?"

I chuckle softly, the sound low and dark. "You know who it is, Enzo."

There's a pause, the kind where I can tell he's trying to figure out how deep in shit he is. Then, his voice comes back, trying for casual, but the edge of uncertainty is there. "Dante. What the hell do you want?"

I wipe down my gun, holding it loosely in my hand as I lean back against the car. "What I want," I say, calm and even, "is to know why you did it."

There's silence—thick and tense—and then he frowns, his confusion clear through the phone. "What the hell are you talking about?"

I tilt my head, staring into the distance as if I can see him through the phone. "Sienna," I say slowly, savoring the sound of her name. "What I don't get, Enzo, is why. Why did you think you could touch what's mine?"

There's a brief pause, and then he laughs—a short, smug sound that grates on my nerves. "Sienna? You're really getting worked up over some little bitch? Come on, Dante, you're not that stupid."

His words are cold, sharp, and I feel a flicker of rage spark in my chest. But I keep it buried, deep, where it won't explode just yet. I stay calm. "That's where you're wrong, Enzo," I say quietly. "But I still want to know why you thought you could touch her."

There's another pause, and then Enzo's voice turns oily, full of that cocky arrogance he hides behind when he thinks he's got control. "Why not? Your girl's a piece of ass, Dante. You should know how this game works by now. You use what's in front of you. And Sienna? She was right there, ready to be taken. Figured I'd have a little fun."

The words hit me like a punch, but I don't flinch. I force myself to stay still, to breathe through the surge of fury rising inside me. "Fun?" I echo, my voice steady but with an undercurrent of lethal intent.

"Yeah," Enzo continues, his voice slimy, full of false bravado. "I would've had her begging, man. You have no idea. Girls like her, all uptight, acting like they're too good for the likes of us? They always crack. I'd have made her crawl on her knees for me by the end of it. Maybe a little slap to put her in her place, some rough play to remind her who's in charge. She'd have screamed for me, Dante. Screamed for more."