The Mafia Marriage Contract

Smoke curled through the dimly lit chamber, the sharp scent of gunpowder hanging in the air. Niccolò Vasquez stood at the center of it all, a king in his final act, a predator backed into a corner.

His smirk was infuriating. Confident. Dangerous. But Dante didn't falter. He stepped forward, his gun aimed straight at Niccolò's chest, his heartbeat steady.

"You've lost," Dante said, voice even. "Drop the detonator."

Niccolò chuckled, twirling the small device between his fingers. "Lost? No, Dante. I think I've won."

A slow, mocking grin spread across his face. "If I go down, I take this whole damn place with me. Including you."

Lorenzo shifted beside Dante, gun cocked. "Then let's make sure you go first."

Amelia, standing just a few feet behind Dante, watched Niccolò carefully. Her eyes flickered to the detonator, assessing the situation in seconds.

"His hand is shaking," she murmured, just loud enough for Dante to hear. "He's bluffing."

Niccolò's smirk faltered for the briefest moment.

Dante caught it. And in that instant, he knew.

This was no calculated move. This was desperation.

The great Niccolò Vasquez, the mastermind who had stolen the Moretti empire, who had betrayed, manipulated, and murdered his way to power—he was afraid.

Dante's lips curled. "You think I'd come here without a backup plan?"

Niccolò frowned, his fingers tightening on the detonator.

Dante took another step forward, slowly lowering his gun, his posture shifting from aggression to absolute certainty. "I've already disabled your failsafes." His voice was cold, sharp as a blade. "The explosives in this building? They're no longer under your control."

Niccolò's face darkened. His thumb hovered over the button—but hesitation flickered in his eyes.

Dante tilted his head. "Go ahead. Press it."

A tense beat of silence.

Then—

Niccolò lunged.

Gunfire exploded.

Dante moved first, a single, precise shot tearing through Niccolò's shoulder. The detonator clattered to the floor, skidding away.

Lorenzo was on him in an instant, kicking the device out of reach before driving his boot into Niccolò's ribs. The man choked out a curse, his smirk gone, replaced by raw pain.

Dante crouched beside him, gripping Niccolò's bloodied collar, forcing their gazes to meet.

"This empire was never yours," Dante said, his voice a quiet storm. "And now, you'll never see another sunrise."

Niccolò let out a ragged laugh, his breaths shallow. "You think… you're any better than me?"

Dante's grip tightened. "No." His voice was steel. "But I'll do what you never could—I'll rebuild without fear."

With that, he stood.

Amelia stepped beside him, slipping her hand into his. Her warmth grounded him, reminding him of everything beyond vengeance. Beyond bloodshed.

Dante turned his back on Niccolò Vasquez.

And as he walked away, Lorenzo raised his gun.

One last shot echoed through La Fortaleza.

It was over.

The reign of Niccolò Vasquez had come to an end.

And Dante Moretti was ready to reclaim his throne....