Chapter 8 - The King Stands
Dante threw off the blanket, revealing the Glock in his right hand.
Before Lorenzo could register the movement, Dante fired. The 9mm hollow point shattered Lorenzo’s right knee.
Lorenzo shrieked in agony, his Beretta discharging harmlessly into the ceiling as he collapsed backward onto the floor, clutching his ruined leg.
The mercenaries reacted instantly, raising their rifles—
But Dante didn't fire from the chair.
With a thunderous, primal roar that echoed through the entire penthouse, Dante Vale planted his boots onto the hardwood floor and *stood up.*
He lunged forward like a striking panther, grabbing the nearest mercenary by the tactical vest, using the man’s own momentum to shield himself as the other guards fired. Bullets shredded the guard’s body armor. Dante fired three clean, precise rounds over the dead man’s shoulder, dropping two mercenaries instantly with shots to the chest.
The third mercenary scrambled backward, his eyes bulging in pure, unadulterated horror.
“He’s walking!” the guard screamed. “He’s—”
Dante closed the distance in two massive, predatory strides, drove his fist into the man’s throat, shattering his windpipe, and discharged a single round into his forehead as he fell.
The suite went dead silent.
Viviana was backed against the wall, her hands clawing at the wallpaper, her chest heaving in hysterical hyperventilation. She looked at Dante—standing tall, broad-shouldered, towering over the corpses of her hitmen—as if she were looking at the Devil himself risen from the abyss.
“No...” she whimpered, sliding down the wall. “No, it’s impossible... you can’t walk... you’re crippled...”
Dante stepped over the bodies. His steps were slightly uneven, his muscles screaming with agonizing burn of sudden, extreme exertion, but he didn't stumble. His willpower was an unbreakable iron fortress.
Lorenzo was writhing on the floor, dragging himself toward the door, leaving a thick trail of blood across the rug. “Dante... please... brother... we’re blood...”
Dante stepped heavily onto Lorenzo’s wounded knee.
Lorenzo let out an ear-splitting scream, tears and saliva streaming down his face.
“Julian was our blood,” Dante said, looking down at his brother with eyes devoid of any human pity. “And you blew him into pieces for offshore accounts.”
Lena stood up from behind the desk, her hands trembling, staring at Dante in awe. He was standing. Completely unsupported. A titan reborn from the ashes of betrayal.
Suddenly, the shattered double doors were breached again.
Marco burst into the room, his uniform covered in blood, followed by a dozen heavily armed Vale loyalists.
“Boss!” Marco yelled, his rifle scanning the room. He froze mid-stride, his jaw dropping as he saw Dante standing over Lorenzo. “Boss... you’re on your feet.”
“Marco,” Dante said calmly, never taking his foot off Lorenzo’s leg. “Secure the building. Lorenzo’s men at the docks are to be rounded up and eliminated by sunrise. Every asset belonging to the Sterling shipping line is to be seized under syndicate maritime law.”
“Right away, sir,” Marco barked, signaling his men to disarm the groaning Lorenzo and haul him to his feet.
Viviana began to sob uncontrollably, dropping to her knees. “Dante! Please! It was Lorenzo! He forced me! He threatened my father! I love you, Dante, please don't kill me!”
Dante turned his cold gaze upon her. The sheer disgust in his eyes was more lethal than a firing squad.
“I won't kill you, Viviana,” Dante said, his voice dripping with icy contempt. “Death is too clean. Tomorrow morning, your family goes into bankruptcy. Your father will be indicted for syndicate racketeering. And you will spend the rest of your life penniless, scrubbing floors in the state penitentiary.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Get her out of my sight.”
Marco’s men dragged the screaming, hysterical heiress out into the corridor. Lorenzo followed, dragged by his arms, weeping and pleading for mercy that would never come.
When the heavy doors were finally closed, the penthouse was quiet once again.
Dante swayed.
The adrenaline began to recede, and the brutal reality of physical exhaustion hit his newly awakened nervous system like a sledgehammer. His knees buckled.
“Dante!”
Lena rushed forward, throwing her arms around his waist just as he began to fall. She caught his weight against her body, bracing herself, holding him tight against her chest.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered fiercely, tears of relief spilling over her eyelashes. “I’ve got you, my king.”
Dante wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet, vanilla scent of her skin. He was trembling, completely drained, but his heart beat against hers with violent, thumping life.
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“You saved me, Lena,” he whispered against her skin, his lips pressing a tender, burning kiss to her pulse point. “You brought me back from the dead.”
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