Fated To The Mafia King

IV

A sharp cry pierced the empty silence of the warehouse, reverberating off the concrete walls. A man sat slumped in a chair, wrists bound tightly, his breathing ragged with fear. In front of him, Dante sat calmly, leaning back as if he had all the time in the world, an unsettling calm radiating from his gaze. On the table beside him lay an assortment of tools—each carrying a silent promise of pain.

Dante picked up a pair of pliers, studying them thoughtfully before leaning forward until he was eye-to-eye with the man. “Do you understand what it means to betray me?” he asked, his voice soft but dangerously clear.

The man shuddered, his eyes wide. “I… I’m sorry, Dante. I swear, I didn’t mean—”

Dante held up a hand, silencing him. “You’re not sorry, Rico. Not yet.” He tapped the pliers lightly against his own hand, as if weighing his options. “But you will be.”

Rico swallowed hard, his face pale. “Please… I’ll do anything… just let me make this right.”

Dante tilted his head, as if considering the offer. “Maybe I’ll give you that chance. But first, I need you to understand the weight of your choices.” He set the pliers down and stood, stepping around the table, his expression unreadable.

The tension in the warehouse hung thick, each heartbeat sounding louder than the last. Rico’s breathing slowed as he dared to hope. Dante had set down the pliers, and for a moment, the silence felt almost merciful.

Dante looked at him, his expression softening just a fraction. “Maybe I was too harsh,” he murmured, as if in sudden reflection. He even managed a faint smile. “Everyone deserves a second chance, right?”

Rico’s eyes widened, a spark of relief lighting up his face. “Yes, Dante. Thank you. I won’t ever—”

“Shhh.” Dante raised a hand, cutting him off gently. He stood, brushing a bit of imaginary dust off his jacket, his gaze thoughtful. “Consider this your freedom, Rico. No hard feelings.”

Rico swallowed, barely daring to believe it as he shifted slightly in his bonds, eager to be freed.

Then, in one smooth motion, Dante’s hand moved, and a knife glinted in the dim light. He leaned close, his voice calm as he whispered, “I’ve forgiven you now. You’re free.”

Before Rico could even register the betrayal, Dante drove the blade between his eyes, an end as swift as it was final. As the light faded from Rico’s gaze, Dante watched, his expression unreadable.

Turning, he calmly wiped the blade, leaving behind nothing but a chilling silence in the empty warehouse.

"Are you not going to the ball tonight the Smiths have organized?" Lucas, Dante's consigliere and best friend, asked, walking beside him.

"No, I'm not going," Dante replied, adjusting his suit.

"You should," Lucas insisted. "Remember the area we want for the construction project? The Smiths control it. This could be a good opportunity to negotiate."

Dante frowned. The construction project was crucial, and gaining the Smiths' cooperation could expedite their plans. Attending the ball might actually be beneficial after all.

"Alright," Dante said finally. "We'll go. Make the arrangements."

"Will do. See you there." With that, Lucas went inside the warehouse.

Dante turned and walked away, leaving Lucas and the others to handle the aftermath. As he exited the warehouse, the cool night air hit him, and he straightened his jacket. Tonight’s business was far from over.