The Mafia Marriage Contract

The jet cut through the night sky like a blade, its engines humming a low, steady growl. The cabin was silent, save for the occasional shuffle of Lorenzo checking his weapons and the rhythmic clicking of Amelia loading her gun.

Dante sat by the window, his fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey, but he hadn't taken a sip. His thoughts were a storm, colliding between past and present. Barcelona was enemy territory, and Niccolò had chosen it for a reason.

This isn't a trap. It's an invitation to hell.

And Dante was walking straight into it.

Amelia shifted beside him, her gaze unwavering. "Tell me what's on your mind."

Dante exhaled, watching the city lights grow closer. "Niccolò knows me too well. He's not just waiting for a fight—he's orchestrating one. He's pulling every string, setting every piece, waiting for me to make the wrong move."

Amelia reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. "Then don't give him what he wants."

Dante turned to her, his expression softening. "And what does he want?"

"To see you lose control." She squeezed his hand. "To see you doubt yourself."

He studied her, the weight of her presence grounding him in ways he couldn't explain. The war ahead was inevitable, but with Amelia by his side, it felt less like a suicide mission and more like destiny.

"You're not supposed to be here," he murmured.

"And yet, here I am," she replied, leaning in. "Because wherever you go, Dante, I go."

His throat tightened, and for a moment, he let himself forget the bloodshed waiting for them. He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're dangerous, Amelia Moretti."

She smiled, slow and knowing. "And you love it."

The plane touched down, the moment breaking like glass.

The City of Betrayal

Barcelona smelled like sea salt and sin, a city where power shifted like waves and alliances were as fleeting as the tide. Dante and his team moved with calculated precision, dressed in sharp suits that concealed more weapons than they should.

The meet was set at a high-rise club called La Muerte, a Syndicate-owned fortress disguised as an elite playground for the corrupt. The music pulsed like a heartbeat, drowning the air in sin and smoke.

Dante stepped inside first, Amelia at his side. Lorenzo and Sofia flanked them, their presence a silent warning.

The hostess barely glanced at them before guiding them to a private VIP floor, her eyes flickering with recognition. They were expected.

At the center of the dimly lit lounge, Niccolò Vasquez sat like a king on a velvet throne.

He hadn't aged much—if anything, the years had sharpened him. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he lifted a glass in welcome.

"Dante Moretti." His voice was smooth, like poison in a silk vial. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your nerve."

Dante didn't sit. He didn't speak. He simply watched.

Niccolò chuckled, leaning forward. "Ah. The silence. The deadly stare. You really are your father's son."

Dante's lips curled in something that wasn't a smile. "That's where you're wrong."

Niccolò raised a brow. "Oh?"

"My father trusted you." Dante's voice was razor-sharp. "I don't."

Niccolò sighed, swirling his drink. "Trust is such a fragile thing, isn't it? One wrong move, and it crumbles." He set the glass down. "Which is why I don't offer it freely."

Dante finally moved, stepping closer. "Cut the theatrics. You sent for me. You wanted this meeting. Say what you have to say."

Niccolò studied him, then glanced at Amelia. "Ah. Your lovely wife." His gaze lingered just a second too long, his smirk just a little too smug. "I must say, she's a surprising choice for a Moretti."

Dante's fist twitched. Amelia squeezed his arm just slightly—a silent reminder to stay calm.

Niccolò tilted his head. "But then again, maybe that's why you're weaker than your father."

The words snapped like a whip, and the air in the room turned razor-thin.

Lorenzo shifted beside Dante, ready to strike. But Dante didn't move. His rage was a caged animal, waiting, calculating.

Niccolò leaned back, satisfied. "I know why you're here. You want to take back what's yours. But let's be honest, Dante… the empire isn't yours anymore. It's mine."

Dante finally spoke, his voice deadly quiet. "You're mistaken."

Niccolò smirked. "Am I?"

Dante stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his presence swallowing the room. He leaned in close, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"You took what belonged to my family. You built your kingdom on borrowed power, on shadows and lies. But power isn't stolen, Niccolò." Dante's eyes were cold fire. "It's earned."

Niccolò's smirk faltered just slightly.

Dante straightened. "And I'm here to take back what's mine."

Silence stretched between them like a blade.

Then, Niccolò smiled again, but this time, there was something darker behind it.

"Well then," he murmured. "Let's see if you can."

And that was when the first shot rang out.

Chaos Unleashed

The windows shattered.

Gunfire erupted, ripping through the lounge as chaos swallowed the club whole. Syndicate men burst from the shadows, weapons blazing.

Dante didn't hesitate.

He grabbed Amelia, pulling her behind an overturned table as bullets ripped through leather and glass. Lorenzo and Sofia were already moving, firing with brutal precision.

Niccolò was gone. A shadow vanishing into the storm.

Dante's heartbeat was a war drum.

"MOVE!" he barked, yanking Amelia up as they sprinted for the nearest exit.

The hallway was a war zone. Syndicate men lined the corridors, gunfire flashing like lightning in the dark. Dante moved like a predator, taking down enemies with brutal efficiency.

A man lunged at Amelia—she didn't hesitate. A single shot to the head, and he collapsed at her feet.

Dante turned, blood splattered across his shirt. "I thought you hated using guns."

Amelia blew the smoke from the barrel. "Desperate times."

Lorenzo caught up, reloading. "We need to move! They'll have reinforcements coming."

Dante's mind was already ten steps ahead. "Niccolò's running. He won't fight this battle himself. He'll be heading to his stronghold."

Sofia wiped blood from her face. "Then we take the fight to him."

Dante turned to Amelia. "You in?"

She smirked. "Always."

He kissed her hard, fast—fire and desperation colliding in one breath.

Then, without another word, they ran into the night.

The hunt was on.

And this time, Dante Moretti wouldn't stop until Niccolò Vasquez was buried for good..