Chapter 12 - The Exiled KingI had scoured the Russo family archives for months, but I had never seen the name Dante.
As the sirens wailed and our elite guards barricaded the penthouse, Victor stood by the reinforced windows, loading a heavy combat shotgun with terrifying precision.
"Ten years ago, my father exiled him to Sicily," Victor explained, his eyes fixed on the chaotic Chicago streets below. "Dante was a psychopath. He didn't just want to run the underworld; he wanted to burn the city to the ground for entertainment. We thought he died in a car bomb in Palermo five years ago."
"If he's dead, who left the box?" I asked, pacing the floor, the heavy train of my wedding dress discarded on the couch. I was now wearing black tactical pants and a silk blouse.
"He faked his death," Victor snarled, slamming a shell into the chamber. "He’s been waiting. Letting me build the empire, eliminate the Outfit, and do all the heavy lifting. Now that the throne is uncontested, he’s back to claim it."
My burner phone suddenly vibrated on the glass table.
It was an unknown number.
Victor nodded once. I answered the call, putting it on speaker.
"Hello, little bird," a voice purred through the line. It sounded chillingly like Victor’s, but twisted with a sickening, melodic amusement. "I must say, my baby brother has excellent taste. A maid turned mafia queen? It’s a beautiful Cinderella story."
"Dante," Victor’s voice cut through the room like a blade. "If you step foot in my city, I will put a bullet between your eyes myself."
Dante laughed—a dry, echoing sound. "Your city? Oh, Victor. You've grown soft. You fell in love. You let a woman and a sick child become your Achilles' heel. Check the news, brother. The wedding fireworks are starting early."
The line went dead.
Seconds later, a massive shockwave rattled the bulletproof glass of our penthouse. A mile away, near the harbor, a colossal plume of black smoke erupted into the winter sky.
My blood ran ice cold.
"Victor," I choked out, staring at the burning skyline. "That's... that's the Russo Private Medical Center."
May you like
"Tommy," Victor breathed.
The devil had returned to Chicago, and his first target was my brother.
