Chapter 2 - The Return of the Master
Dante stepped out of the shadows. The temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop twenty degrees.
"Marcela," Dante said. His voice wasn't raised. It was quiet, flat, and carried the terrifying, controlled gravity of a man standing on the edge of an avalanche.
Marcela stammered, her regal posture faltering for the first time since I had married into the family. "Dante—you... you weren't scheduled to return until next weekend. The flights from Palermo were delayed—"
"I changed my flight," Dante interrupted, his dark eyes sweeping over the kitchen, noting the guards standing at attention, the shattered vase in the corridor, and the bowl of Maria’s chicken soup pushed to the side. He walked slowly toward me, his heavy coat brushing the counter.
He didn't look at his mother. He stopped directly in front of me, gently placing a warm, steady hand over mine on the counter.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice softening just enough for only me to hear.
"I'm fine," I whispered, the sudden rush of relief making my knees feel weak. "Just tired."
Dante turned around, facing his mother and the guards. The transformation was absolute. The warmth he showed me vanished, replaced by the lethal, calculating authority of a mafia boss who had just discovered an infection at the heart of his empire.
"Luca," Dante called out, fixing his gaze on the young soldier who had broken the vase.
May you like
"Boss," Luca murmured, sweating under his collar.
"Pack your bags. You're off payroll as of midnight. If you're still in the city by sunrise, I won't be the one looking for you." Dante didn't blink. "As for the vase, you broke it. You clean it. With your bare hands."
