Chapter 4: Dante

The Devil’s Forge was more than just a bar; it was a sanctuary. A place where loyalty was currency, and trust wasn’t a luxury but a necessity. Tonight, the familiar hum of laughter, the clink of glasses, and the low growl of motorcycles outside did little to ease the storm brewing in my head.

I slid onto a stool near the bar, signaling for a drink. Around me, the usual faces filled the room—men and women who’d ridden with me for years, who’d bled and fought beside me. This wasn’t just a club; it was my family.

But even here, the weight of my father’s words clung to me like a second skin.

Lorenzo wanted me back. Not as his son but as his asset. His tool. And the worst part? A small, insidious part of me wanted to take the bait—not for him, but for the answers he might hold.

The bartender slid a glass of whiskey in front of me. I downed it in one go, the burn in my throat doing little to dull the edge of my frustration.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Matteo watching me. My uncle had a knack for reading people, and I could tell he already knew I was wound tight. With a nod, he motioned toward his office at the back of the bar.

“Not now,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. My head was a mess, and I needed air more than I needed answers.

Pushing away from the bar, I grabbed a cigarette from my jacket and stepped outside. The night was cool, the air heavy with the scent of oil and asphalt. The distant rumble of engines was a soothing rhythm against my chaotic thoughts.

I lit the cigarette, taking a long drag as my mind churned.

My father’s voice echoed in my head, each word digging deeper into my skin. Expansion. Loyalty. Family. It was all bullshit—his attempt to wrap his desperation in a bow and sell it as pride.

I clenched my jaw, anger simmering just below the surface. But no matter how hard I tried to focus on him, my thoughts kept drifting to her.

Valentina.

Her eyes were what haunted me the most. That mix of fear and something else—something that looked a lot like longing. It was a dangerous combination, and I couldn’t deny the sick satisfaction I felt knowing I’d gotten under her skin.

I took another drag, letting the smoke curl out of my lips. The memory of her standing there, defiant yet vulnerable, had seared itself into my mind.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“Dante.”

The voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I turned to see Madison, one of my fuckbuddies. Her painted lips curled into a smirk as she sauntered toward me.

“Been a while,” she said, her tone teasing as her hand slid up my arm.

Her fingers slid to my chest, hovered over my belt, and grabbed my cock. I didn't stop her. She was bold, I'll give her that.

"I need you to fuck me," She was already on her knees, skillfully taking the head of my cock into her mouth, her eyes looking up at me with longing, just as she begged me to fuck her in bed.

"Please," she said.

But right now, I had no interest in her; my mind was consumed with thoughts of my stepsister. My stepsister was arrogant and disrespectful, she would never kneel for me. I could imagine how I would thread my fingers through her ash-blonde hair, forcefully pressing her head down, thrusting my cock into her mouth to make her understand what her body truly craved.

“Stop,” I said, my voice rough as I pulled away.

Madison blinked up at me, her surprise quickly turning to irritation. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Not tonight,” I muttered, stepping back.

“Whatever,” she snapped, rolling her eyes before walking back inside.

I leaned against the wall, running a hand through my hair as frustration clawed at me. This wasn’t who I was. I didn’t get distracted, didn’t let people get in my head. But Valentina was in there, her presence unshakable and maddening.

I took a final drag of my cigarette before tossing it to the ground and crushing it under my boot. Matteo was waiting, and if I didn’t get my act together, he’d start asking questions I didn’t want to answer.

—-

Matteo’s office was a sharp contrast to the rest of the bar. Where the Forge was chaos and noise, his office was all order—papers stacked neatly, a map of the city pinned to the wall, and the faint scent of cigar smoke lingering in the air.

Matteo sat behind his desk, his sharp eyes fixed on me as I stepped inside.

“You look like shit,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“Thanks,” I replied, dropping into the seat across from him.

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “There’s a situation.”

“Isn’t there always?”

“This one’s different,” Matteo said, his tone serious. “Local government officials—some of them are tied up in illegal deals that just got exposed. It’s messy, but that’s not the real issue.”

I raised a brow. “What is?”

“There was a large transfer from a money-laundering bank,” Matteo explained. “It paused in one of your father’s accounts for two minutes before being moved again. It’s enough to raise flags, especially considering the heat on those officials.”

My jaw tightened. “You think he’s involved?”

“Your father always has his hands in something dirty,” Matteo said. “But here’s the kicker. The accounts tied to that transfer? They weren’t his.”

I frowned. “Then whose were they?”

Matteo hesitated, his gaze sharpening. “Your mother’s.”

The words hit me like a freight train.

“My mother’s?” I repeated, leaning forward.

“Yeah,” Matteo said, sliding a file across the desk. “Offshore accounts. They’ve been active for the past 18 years—long after she passed.”

I stared at the file, my pulse pounding in my ears. This didn’t make any sense. My mother had been gone for years. Decades. And yet, large sums of money had been moving through accounts in her name?

“What the hell is going on?” I muttered, more to myself than Matteo.

“That’s what you need to figure out,” Matteo said. “If these accounts are tied to your father, it could blow up in his face. And if they’re not…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. If they weren’t tied to my father, then someone else was pulling the strings. Someone who’d been hiding in the shadows for years.

I clenched my fists, the weight of it all settling heavily on my shoulders. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t just about money. It was about my mother’s legacy—and the secrets she’d taken to her grave.

“I’ll look into it,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside me.

Matteo nodded. “Be careful, Dante. This isn’t just about the Marinos. It’s bigger than that.”

I didn’t respond. My mind was already racing, piecing together fragments of a puzzle I hadn’t even realized existed.

Whatever the truth was, I was going to find it. And when I did, there’d be hell to pay.