DANTE'S POV
The heavy door slammed open.
Dante looked up, cigarette halfway to his lips, as Emilio stormed into the underground ring with three of his men at his back. Not a word, not a warning—just pure fury in his eyes. Behind Dante, his own men stiffened, some already reaching for weapons.
"Stand down," Dante said calmly without turning. His voice echoed through the ring.
Emilio's boots echoed as he marched closer. "You don't know how to control your brat?"
Dante took a slow drag of his cigarette, then exhaled. "Slow down, Emilio. You don't expect me to keep Luca in a cage."
"If that's the best option—do it," Emilio spat.
Dante chuckled, low and sharp. "You're joking."
"Joking?" Emilio's voice rose. "Where's the peace and team you preached about?"
Dante studied him quietly. That glare, that authority—he wore it like a second skin now. Commanding. Focused. It almost felt foreign.
Because all Dante could see, behind the sharp words and military stance, was that night.
That night, Emilio had trembled as he held his cock.
His cock was shorter but thick and red with arousal.
He had helped him out of pity. Maybe guilt. He'd never done something like that for any man. Only for himself. But Emilio had looked so desperate, trembling as he pleaded with his words.
He still remembered how Emilio shook as he jerked his cock, how he cried like it was too much Like it excited him so much he couldn't take it. That made Dante keep going.
And now... here Emilio was. Storming in like a boss, cold and sharp in front of his men.
Dante blinked away the memory, snapping back. "Call Rossi," he said. "I'll call Luca. Let's settle this before it turns into something worse."
Emilio didn't reply, but after a moment, he nodded. He pulled out his phone, jaw still tight.
They sat in silence as they waited, opposite each other in the ring. Their men lingered near the walls, silent and watchful. Dante's eyes stayed on Emilio's.
Dante watched him, quiet, thinking:
So serious now. But I know what you look like when you break.
——
Rossi arrived first, dressed in black as always. Calm, cold, and unreadable. He stepped beside Emilio without a word and didn't even glance at Dante. His silence was sharp enough to slice the air.
A few minutes later, Luca walked in. His hoodie was half-zipped, and the bruise under his eye was still fresh. He looked more dangerous than usual, but his steps were calm, almost casual. Without hesitation, he sat beside Dante and crossed his arms, jaw set.
The tension in the ring stretched tight—like a wire pulled to its limit. Nobody spoke at first. The silence was loud.
Then Dante leaned toward Luca, voice low but firm. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Luca's response came fast, bitter. "You promised you'd put a bullet in his head," he said, nodding at Emilio.
"I didn't promise," Dante replied calmly. "I said I was considering it. There's a difference."
Luca's jaw tensed. "His men put me in the hospital. Then he plotted with Romano to ambush you. You call that something we just overlook?"
Emilio shifted beside Rossi, stiff and quiet. He didn't argue. But Rossi shot him a sideways glance—sharp, warning, telling him without words to keep his mouth shut.
Dante exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving Luca. "I don't use violence unless there's no other way. We're not running a street gang, Luca. We play smarter than that."
Luca didn't reply, but his glare stayed hard.
"Look," Dante continued, voice steady, "we're not going to win by fighting blindly. We win by thinking ahead. By building alliances—even with people we don't like."
Luca scoffed under his breath, but he didn't argue. His silence was a shaky truce.
After a long pause, he finally muttered, "Fine."
He stood, squaring his shoulders, and turned to face Rossi. The two locked eyes, the tension still coiled between them like a spring. Dante watched closely, ready to break them apart if needed.
But Luca moved first. With a grunt, he extended his hand.
Rossi stared at it, unreadable, then accepted the handshake. Firm. Quick. No words exchanged. Just two enemies agreeing not to tear each other apart—for now.
"Glad we're not animals," Dante muttered to himself.
Luca turned back to him. "I've got tutors waiting," he said with a flat tone.
Dante lifted a brow. "Since when do you care about school?"
"Since you told me to stay busy," Luca replied, a slight smirk twitching at his lips. "So I'm going. But don't blame me if the tutor quits."
Dante waved a hand. "Just don't knock them out."
Luca's eyes flicked to Emilio one last time—hard to read—then he turned and left. The door shut behind him with a dull echo.
Rossi didn't follow. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. A silent sentinel.
Dante turned to Emilio, finally.
"Since I've fulfilled my part—peace between our men—I think it's time we shift focus."
Emilio raised a brow, noncommittal.
"Romano isn't going to sit still," Dante continued. "He planned to kill both of us. That means we owe him a response."
Emilio's eyes darkened slightly. Then he gave a half-shrug, casual but knowing. "Yeah. I've been thinking that too."
Dante nodded once. "Then let's be ready. That starts with you learning how to defend yourself."
Emilio scoffed. "I told you—I don't fight like—"
"Like a dog. Yeah, I remember," Dante interrupted, a dry smile tugging at his lips. "But I also remember you trembling in the woods. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move."
Emilio's expression tightened, shame flickering in his eyes.
Dante's tone softened. "I'm not mocking you. You've got something, Emilio. But potential doesn't protect you in a gunfight."
Silence stretched. Then Emilio let out a sharp breath. "Fine. Let's get it over with."
Dante smirked. "That's the spirit."
A moment passed, then Emilio looked over. "When should I come?"
Dante didn't even blink. "Evenings. Nights too, if you can handle it. But never in the morning."
Emilio narrowed his eyes. "Why not mornings?"
Dante gave a slow shrug. "Mornings are for business. I don't need distractions while I'm making moves."
Emilio rolled his eyes but gave a nod. "Fine."
Dante watched him go. And for a moment, Dante wondered if Emilio truly meant it—if he'd really show up tomorrow evening.
Or if he was already planning not to.