"Clear it anyway," he says. "I have plans for you."
"Plans?"
"Many plans. Detailed plans. Plans that involve very little clothing and very few interruptions."
My face heats. I'm aware of the others watching, of Bruno's raised eyebrow and Lorenzo's knowing smirk. I don't care.
"I'll check my schedule," I tell him.
Dante laughs again, lighter this time, freer.
Then he hangs up.
I lower the phone slowly. Stare at the screen until it goes dark.
He's okay.
He's coming back to me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Dante
The basement of the Sartori compound has never held this many people.
I stand against the far wall, arms crossed, watching the family arrange themselves on the chairs Vittoria and Liam had brought down an hour ago. The setup looks wrong. Chairs in neat rows, facing the center of the room where Alejandro Mendoza sits bound to a metal chair. Like a courtroom. Like a trial.
This isn't how interrogations work. Not in our world. Women don't attend. Civilians don't attend. The basement is for blood and screaming and the kind of work that stains your soul if you let yourself think about it too long.
But this is different.
Bruno sits in the front row, Antonella beside him despite his protests. She refused to stay upstairs. Said she had a right to hear whatever truth was about to come out. Bruno stopped arguing when she threatened to sleep in Vittoria's bedroom for a month.
Lorenzo and Sophia sit together, their hands intertwined. He hasn't let her out of his sight since the reveal, since she learned he was alive and collapsed in his arms.
Nico and Kristen occupy the second row. Kristen's jaw is set, her eyes hard. She's seen violence before. Survived it. She won't flinch from whatever happens here.
Vittoria and Dmitri stand near the door. Dmitri's presence is a statement—the Bratva alliance, made physical. His pale eyes track Alejandro's every movement, calculating, patient. Waiting.
Aria sits in the corner, her rosary beads wrapped around her fingers. She hasn't stopped praying since we brought Alejandro in. I don't know if she's praying for his soul or ours.
Marina sits in the back row. Alone. Her hands rest in her lap, and she's watching me instead of Alejandro. I feel the weight of her gaze like a physical touch. She doesn't know what's coming. None of them do.
Except me.
Except Alejandro.
Dmitri steps forward and rips the duct tape from Alejandro's mouth in one clean motion. Alejandro winces, then laughs.
"Dante." He grins at me, blood from a split lip staining his teeth. We didn't touch him. The lip is from the takedown, from when my men forced him to the ground. "You wanted a family reunion? One last gathering before you destroy them all?"
The room goes still.
Bruno rises from his chair. "What the fuck is he saying?"
Alejandro's grin widens. He looks around the room, taking in the faces, the confusion, the dawning horror. His eyes land on me.
"They don't know." He laughs again. "You didn't tell them. Oh, this is perfect. This is?—"
