The air at the private shipping docks was thick with the smell of salt, rust, and impending rain. It was four in the morning, the "dead hour," when the world was supposed to be asleep. Dante pulled the SUV to a stop behind a stack of rusted shipping containers, the engine idling low.
He reached over, checking the spare magazine in his waistband before looking at Sienna. She looked pale in the dim dashboard light, her fingers twisting the Moretti ring on her hand.
"This is it," Dante said, his voice a low, focused hum. "Marco is waiting by the Cessna at the end of Pier 4. We board, we fly, and we don't look back."
Sienna looked at him, her eyes wide and searching. "You're sure they haven't followed us? The drive felt... too quiet."
Dante gripped the back of her neck, pulling her close until their foreheads touched. "I've had my guys running counter-surveillance all night. If anyone was on our tail, they're at the bottom of a ravine right now. Trust me, Sienna. We're almost out."
"I trust you," she whispered, though her voice wavered. "I just have this feeling in my chest. Like the air is too heavy to breathe."
"That's just the adrenaline," Dante reassured her, though he felt the same tightness. He leaned over and gave her a hard, lingering kiss. "Stay in the car until I check the perimeter of the hangar. When I whistle, you run. Fast. You don't stop for anything, you hear me?"
"I hear you," she said.
Dante stepped out into the cold morning air, his boots crunching on the gravel. He moved with a silent, practiced lethality, his handgun raised. The docks were a labyrinth of shadows. He reached the hangar door, checking the lock. It was untouched. He scanned the cranes and the pier. Empty.
He turned back toward the SUV and gave a sharp, short whistle.
Sienna hopped out, her black coat fluttering behind her as she sprinted toward him. When she reached his side, Dante grabbed her hand, pulling her into the hangar.
"Where's Marco?" Sienna asked, her voice echoing in the vast, hollow space.
The hangar was silent. The small white Cessna sat in the center of the floor, its engines cold.
"Marco!" Dante shouted, his gut beginning to churn. "We're here! Get the bird ready!"
No answer.
Dante's blood ran cold. He pushed Sienna behind a stack of crates and raised his weapon. "Something's wrong. Get down."
Suddenly, the overhead floodlights flickered on with a deafening *clack*, blinding them with white, sterile light.
"You always did have a flare for the dramatic, Dante," a voice boomed from the rafters.
Dante squinted, his heart hammering against his ribs. From behind the plane, a figure emerged. It was Lorenzo Cavallo, dressed in a pristine grey suit, holding a silver-plated revolver. Behind him, a dozen men in tactical gear stepped out from the shadows, their red laser sights dancing across Dante's chest.
"Lorenzo," Dante growled, his grip tightening on his gun. "How the fuck did you find this place?"
Lorenzo didn't answer. Instead, he looked at his daughter. "Sienna, darling. Come here."
Dante stepped in front of her, his body a shield. "She isn't going anywhere with you, you old bastard. We have the ledger. We have the accounts. You move, and the Commission gets everything."
Lorenzo chuckled, a sound like dry leaves rubbing together. "The ledger? You mean the one sitting on my desk right now? The one my daughter so graciously returned to me while you were sleeping off your lust in San Remo?"
Dante froze. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He felt a coldness spread from his spine to his fingertips. "What are you talking about?"
Sienna stepped out from behind him. She didn't look scared anymore. Her face was a mask of cold, sharp marble. She walked past Dante, her heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete.
"Sienna?" Dante's voice was a jagged whisper. "Sienna, get back here. It's a trap."
She stopped halfway between them and turned to look at him. There was no love in her eyes. There was nothing but a void.
"It was always a trap, Dante," she said, her voice steady and cruel. "Did you really think I'd choose a Moretti over my own blood? Did you really think I'd give up my inheritance for a villa in Brazil and a life of hiding?"
"You... you told me you loved me," Dante gasped, his gun hand trembling for the first time in his life. "Last night. You said"
"I said what I had to say to keep you distracted while my father's men traced your 'secure' lines," she interrupted, her lip curling in a sneer. "You were so blinded by your own possessiveness, you didn't even notice me swapping the ledger for a dummy file in the study. You were so busy 'owning' me that you forgot who I was raised by."
Dante stared at her, the betrayal cutting deeper than any bullet ever could. The woman he had burned his life down for was standing next to his enemy, looking at him like he was a stray dog.
"I gave you everything," Dante said, his voice thick with a raw, agonizing pain. "I was going to give you the world."
"I don't want your world, Dante," Sienna said, stepping to her father's side. "I want mine back."
Lorenzo patted her shoulder, a sickeningly proud smile on his face. "Good girl. You see, Moretti? This is how a real Mafia family works. Loyalty to the blood above all else."
Lorenzo raised his revolver, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Kill him. And make sure there's nothing left to bury."
"Sienna!" Dante roared, his heartbreak turning into a white-hot, vengeful fury. "Look at me!"
But she didn't look. She turned her back on him as the first volley of gunfire erupted, the hangar turning into a symphony of lead and fire. Dante dove behind a steel pillar, the betrayal screaming louder in his head than the bullets hitting the metal.
He had been played. He had been ruined. And as he watched Sienna walk out of the hangar into the rain without looking back, Dante Moretti realized that his revenge hadn't even started yet.