Chapter 21 - The Unseen HeirThe afternoon sun filtered through the tall arched windows of the Moretti estate library, casting long amber beams across rows of leather-bound ledgers and antique globes. Outside, the gardens were alive with the sound of trickling fountains and the soft, delighted laughter of little Lukas as Marco chased him across the manicured lawn.
I sat at the heavy mahogany desk, staring at a stack of international logistics reports. Six months after Vincent’s fall, the Syndicate of the Red Phoenix had officially dissolved, its remaining splinter cells scattering into the underworld or surrendering to federal custody. But rebuilding an empire meant more than defeating enemies; it meant managing the legitimate side of the Moretti holdings—shipping ports in Palermo, real estate in Zurich, and charity foundations across Europe.
"You're frowning at the shipping manifests again," a deep, familiar voice murmured from the doorway.
Dante leaned against the doorframe, his white linen shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the dark, intricate coils of the dragon tattoo on his forearm. A cup of black espresso rested in his hand, though his eyes weren't on the coffee. They were fixed entirely on me, warm and unguarded in a way only I ever got to see.
"I'm not frowning, I'm analyzing," I replied, spinning my fountain pen between my fingers with a practiced click. "Did you know your Mediterranean transport division has been overpaying for customs clearance in Marseille by nearly twelve percent for the last three years?"
Dante chuckled, a rich, deep sound that sent a familiar shiver down my spine. He walked over, placing the espresso cup on the edge of the desk before pulling me up from my chair and sliding effortlessly into my place, pulling me down onto his lap.
"That's why you're the brains of this operation now," Dante whispered, wrapping his arms securely around my waist. "My uncle was skimming from the European accounts before he staged his grand return. I'm glad you caught it before the board of directors did."
I leaned back against his chest, breathing in the scent of cedarwood, spice, and clean linen that always made me feel like I was finally safe. "Speaking of the board... they're still nervous about the transition. Half of them think a former waitress from a downtown restaurant is going to run the syndicate into bankruptcy."
Dante's grip tightened around me, protective and fierce. "Let them talk. They only see a waitress because they're blind. I see the woman who stood in a crossfire with a Glock, stared down Viktor Vance, and brought light back into this house."
Before I could answer, a soft knock echoed at the library door, followed by the heavy, measured footsteps of Marco.
Marco cleared his throat respectfully, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. "Pardon the interruption, Boss. Miss Mara. We just received a secure dispatch from our intelligence operative in Geneva. It seems we have a visitor arriving on tonight's private flight."
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Dante's posture stiffened instantly, the relaxed warmth in his body vanishing, replaced by the razor-sharp tension of a boss on high alert. "Who?"
Marco handed over a sealed manila folder. "A representative from the European High Council. Specifically... Senator Julian Vance. Viktor Vance’s younger brother."
