Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Elena The silence that followed the boy's declaration was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Viktor Vance let out a harsh, barking laugh, breaking the spell.
"Well, well," Viktor sneered, leaning back in his leather chair. "Looks like the street trash has learned how to run confidence scams early. Drag him out before security earns their keep."
Dante didn't look at Viktor. His gaze remained locked on the child. Every instinct honed over a decade of brutal syndicate warfare told him to reject the claim, to signal Nico to sweep the boy away into the night and bury the embarrassment. But a strange, heavy pressure settled over his chest—the exact same sensation he had felt three hours ago in the street market.
"What's your name?" Dante asked. His voice was no longer conversational; it was the quiet, terrifying calm of a judge reading a death warrant.
"Leo," the boy said, his chin tilting up at the exact angle Dante used when looking down at a rival. "And I'm not lying. My mother was Elena Vance. Before she died last week, she told me who my real father was. She said he owned this city, but he was a coward who hid behind walls."
The name hit the room like a tactical flashbang. Viktor Vance stiffened so violently his chair legs screeched against the floor.
"Elena..." Dante whispered, the name tasting like ash in his mouth. He looked sharply toward the end of the table, where Marco Ferrante had turned completely gray, his hands gripping the edge of the granite so hard his knuckles were translucent.
May you like
Dante didn't need to ask. The sudden, suffocating terror leaking out of Marco’s pores told him everything. Marco hadn't just known about the boy; Marco had erased them.
"Guards," Dante said, his voice dropping into a register so cold it felt sub-zero. "Lock the doors. Nobody leaves this room. And Marco? Don't even think about reaching for the gun in your shoulder holster, or I'll feed you to the river dogs before you hit the floor."
