MasukDante’s new apartment in Brooklyn had no marble pillars or bowing servants greeting his every step. It was just an open space with exposed brick walls, large windows overlooking the bridge, and bookshelves slowly filling with the classic literature he genuinely loved—not the ones imposed by Leonard’s taste. Here, the air smelled of fresh paper and brewed coffee, not the suffocating sandalwood perfume that once defined his life.Dante sat in a rattan chair by the window, holding his father’s pocket watch as it continued to tick steadily. It felt as though he was learning how to walk again after years of having his legs shackled. And yet, despite cutting off all formal communication with the prison, one thing still haunted him: the final secret Leonard had whispered about his father.“Your father… he was the one who came to me first.”The sentence looped in his mind like a broken tape. Dante knew he had to confirm it—not because he wanted to return to Leonard, but because he couldn’t bu
The silence that filled the Upper East Side townhouse that morning felt different. It was no longer the suffocating quiet of looming threats, but the stillness that follows a war—the kind left behind after a storm has passed, leaving debris waiting to be cleared.Dante stood in the center of his study, gazing at the bookshelves once curated to Leonard’s taste. With calm, deliberate movements, he began removing the books one by one, placing them into large boxes.He was no longer dressed in his usual tailored suits. Instead, he wore a simple white cotton shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. At his waist, the silver pocket watch now hung from a new chain, ticking steadily in his vest pocket. Each beat was a quiet reminder: Leonard’s time had ended, while his had only just begun.“Mr. Dante, all arrangements for your mother’s relocation are complete,” Marco said from the doorway, his voice softer than usual. “The west coast location is secure. No trace of the Virelli name. No digital foo
The night over Staten Island felt suffocating, as if the peninsula had been cut off from the glittering pulse of Manhattan. In an abandoned industrial zone, an old meat-processing warehouse loomed like a monument to decay, exuding an aura of death that clung to the air. Dante stood behind the open door of a dark tactical van, watching the building through night-vision binoculars. Beside him, Marco and twelve fully armed operatives waited in disciplined silence.Dante no longer trembled. Whatever fear once lived in him had vanished the moment he saw his mother’s empty bed. What remained was something colder—pure, merciless, borrowed from the very soul of Leonard Virelli. His fingers brushed the pocket watch in his vest before settling on the grip of the semi-automatic pistol at his waist.“Moretti won’t expect us this soon,” Marco whispered. “They think you’ll spend the night begging Leonard.”“They misjudged who holds the power now,” Dante replied, his voice low, almost serpentine. “M
The thin ticking of the pocket watch, now beating steadily in Dante’s vest pocket, felt like a second, unfamiliar heartbeat. In the silence of his room in Switzerland, the sound became a metronome for the emptiness that had taken hold of his soul. Dante stood before the vast window overlooking Lake Geneva. Morning mist still clung to the water’s surface, creating a view that was serene yet lifeless—exactly how he felt after the “celebration” of Vargas’s destruction the night before.He had won the war. Leonard’s enemies now understood that the “pet” possessed fangs far sharper than his master’s. And yet, victory brought no satisfaction. Every time Dante looked at his hands, he no longer saw the fingers of a writer or the son of a factory worker. He saw the hands of a ruler—one who had just destroyed a man’s life without hesitation.“Mr. Dante, breakfast is ready,” Marco’s voice came from behind the door. “And Dr. Keller… she’s already in your mother’s ward. She’s working very diligent
The air inside the federal penitentiary felt far colder this time. Perhaps it was because Dante had instructed Marco to cut off the “extra funds” that had once ensured the heating in Leonard’s block ran at full capacity. Dante walked through the concrete corridors, his leather shoes echoing sharply as they sliced through the oppressive silence. He no longer came with slumped shoulders; he came with his back straight, his gaze no longer searching for protection—but demanding recognition of his dominance.In the visitation room, Leonard was already waiting. Without the luxurious carpet that had adorned his cell for the past few weeks, and without the artisan coffee the guards used to smuggle in, he looked slightly paler. Yet when he saw Dante enter—draped in a grand black fur coat, his expression carved from ice—Leonard’s eyes gleamed with uncontrollable excitement.Dante picked up the receiver but let the silence stretch between them for several long minutes. He wanted Leonard to feel
The ticking of the pocket watch, now resting in Dante’s vest pocket, felt like a second, foreign heartbeat. In the silence of his room in Switzerland, the sound became a metronome for the emptiness consuming his soul. Dante stood before the wide window overlooking Lake Geneva. Morning fog still clung to the surface of the water, painting a scene that was calm yet lifeless—just like what he felt after last night’s “celebration” of Vargas’s downfall.He had won the war. Leonard’s enemies now understood that the “pet” possessed fangs far sharper than his master’s. And yet, the victory brought no satisfaction. Each time he looked at his hands, he no longer saw the fingers of a writer or the son of a factory worker—he saw the hands of a ruler who had just destroyed a man’s life without blinking.“Breakfast is ready, Mr. Dante,” Marco’s voice came from behind the door. “And Dr. Keller… she’s already in your mother’s ward. She’s working very diligently this morning.”Dante turned, his gaze h
“Dante,” Leonard called without turning his head. His voice was flat, but there was an absolute command in it. “Go into the main bathroom. Now.”Dante, who had been trying to swallow a piece of dry bread, froze. “What? It’s still morning, Leonard. I just took a shower.”Leonard rose from his chair,
Every time Leonard left the penthouse in the morning, the silence he left behind never felt truly empty. For Dante, the luxurious apartment now seemed like a living organism with thousands of unseen eyes. After yesterday’s torturous “scent” incident, Dante had become far more alert—or more accurate
Mornings on the fifty-fifth floor always began with a suffocating silence, but for Dante, that silence now had a smell.It was a heavy mixture of sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and the lingering trace of whiskey clinging to the silk sheets. It was Leonard Virelli’s scent. The first time Dante smell
The atmosphere inside the penthouse felt different. Not because the air was warmer, but because of the presence of four strangers in neat black uniforms standing in a row in the middle of the room. In front of them, two rolling clothing racks were already filled with hangers carrying expensive fabr







