The Mafia Marriage Contract

The name Niccolò Vasquez echoed in Dante's mind like a curse, a wound that had never truly healed.

He had buried Niccolò a decade ago—at least, he thought he had. The man had been his father's right hand before betrayal split the family apart. Niccolò had vanished after a failed coup, presumed dead after an explosion wiped out his last known hideout.

Yet here he was. Alive. And leading the Red Syndicate.

Dante leaned back in his chair, gripping the file as he exhaled slowly. Lorenzo, Sofia, and Amelia watched him carefully.

"He was supposed to be dead," Dante muttered.

Lorenzo crossed his arms. "Clearly, he isn't. And he's the one pulling the strings behind the Syndicate's attack."

Amelia leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "What does he want, Dante?"

Dante looked at her, the weight of old betrayals pressing against his chest. "Power. Revenge. Maybe both."

Sofia tapped the file. "He's not just resurfacing to taunt you. If he's leading the Syndicate, he's been planning this for a long time."

Dante's fingers drummed against the table. "Then it's time we remind him that the Moretti empire doesn't fall so easily."

A Meeting in the Shadows

The next move wasn't war—it was intelligence.

Dante needed to know what Niccolò's endgame was before making a final strike. There was only one man who could give him those answers—Don Alberto Mancini, a retired mafia elder who had dealings with Niccolò before his disappearance.

Mancini was a relic of the old world, a man who had built his fortune in blood and loyalty. Convincing him to talk would require more than just threats—it would require persuasion.

That's why Dante went alone.

The meeting was set in a quiet vineyard outside of Florence, an estate owned by Mancini's family for generations. The night air carried the scent of aged wine and damp earth.

Mancini sat on the terrace, a glass of red in his wrinkled hand. His eyes, though dulled by age, still held the sharpness of a man who had survived countless betrayals.

"You've grown into a dangerous man, Dante," Mancini said as Dante took a seat across from him. "Your father would have been proud. Or terrified."

Dante smirked. "A bit of both, I imagine."

Mancini chuckled, swirling his wine. "So, tell me—why have you come?"

Dante placed the file on the table, flipping it open to the image of Niccolò Vasquez.

Mancini's expression didn't change, but Dante saw the slight tightening of his grip on the glass.

"You already know, don't you?" Dante asked.

Mancini exhaled through his nose, setting his drink down. "Niccolò was always the patient kind. When he vanished, everyone assumed he was dead. I knew better. A man like him doesn't die so easily."

Dante leaned in. "What's his play?"

Mancini studied him for a long moment before sighing. "He wants more than revenge, Dante. He wants what your father built. He believes that the Moretti empire should have been his, and now he's coming to take it."

Dante's jaw clenched. "He'll fail."

Mancini gave him a knowing smile. "That depends on you. Niccolò isn't fighting alone. He has allies in places you wouldn't expect, people who have been waiting for a moment like this. You might have weakened the Red Syndicate, but you haven't killed them."

Dante sat back, processing the words. He wasn't just fighting Niccolò—he was fighting a system that had been waiting for his downfall.

Mancini picked up his wine again. "If you want to win, you have to stop thinking like a king protecting his throne. You have to think like a man who has nothing to lose."

Dante met his gaze, his voice like steel. "I'm not losing."

Mancini chuckled. "Then I suppose I should wish you luck."

Dante stood. "Keep your doors locked, Mancini. When this war is over, I'll make sure you're on the right side of history."

Mancini smirked but said nothing as Dante walked away.

The Attack

By the time Dante returned to the estate, his instincts screamed that something was wrong.

The guards were on high alert, and Sofia met him at the entrance, her face tense.

"We have a problem," she said.

Dante followed her inside, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike. In the war room, Lorenzo stood over the surveillance screens, his fists clenched.

"They hit one of our ports," Lorenzo said. "Firebombed two warehouses and left bodies behind."

Dante's blood ran cold as he saw the footage—flames consuming millions in merchandise, men executed with precision.

A message was scrawled on the side of a burned truck in red paint:

"Time's up."

Dante's fingers flexed at his sides. "They're trying to force my hand."

Lorenzo exhaled sharply. "So what's the plan?"

Dante turned to Sofia. "Do we have eyes on Niccolò?"

She hesitated. "Not yet. But we know where one of his key enforcers is—Damian Cruz. If anyone knows where Niccolò is hiding, it's him."

Dante's mind raced. Niccolò wanted him to react recklessly. He wanted Dante to come at him without a strategy.

But Dante wouldn't play into his hands.

He turned to Viper. "Get me Cruz."

Viper grinned. "Alive or dead?"

"Alive. For now."

The Interrogation

Cruz was captured within hours, dragged into a secluded warehouse on the outskirts of the city. He was a ruthless soldier for the Syndicate, a man who had built his reputation on breaking others.

Now he was the one tied to a chair, blood dripping from a cut above his brow.

Dante stepped into the room, the dim light casting long shadows over his face. He crouched in front of Cruz, his expression calm, almost bored.

"Niccolò sent you a message," Dante said. "Now you're going to send one back."

Cruz spat blood on the floor. "You don't scare me, Moretti."

Dante smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I should."

He stood, rolling up his sleeves. "Tell me where Niccolò is."

Cruz smirked, his swollen lip splitting open. "Go to hell."

Dante sighed, shaking his head. "Wrong answer."

The next hour was filled with screams. Dante didn't break a sweat. When the truth finally spilled from Cruz's lips, it was exactly what he expected.

Niccolò was in Barcelona.

Dante turned to his men. "Get ready. We're ending this."

As he left the warehouse, Amelia was waiting outside. She had heard everything.

"You're going after him."

Dante met her gaze, his voice steady. "It's the only way."

She stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. "Then I'm coming with you."

Dante hesitated. "Amelia—"

"No," she cut him off. "This isn't just your fight, Dante. He came for our family. And we finish this together."

Dante stared at her, feeling the weight of everything they had endured. Finally, he nodded.

"Together."

With that, the war for the Moretti empire moved to its final battlefield.

And only one man would be left standing...