His Father's Sins

Dante stared at Evan, his gun raised, his heart pounding.

Evan stood frozen in the doorway, his hands up, his face pale. The dim light from the cabin cast shadows across his features—shadows that made him look older, wearier.

"It's not what you think," Evan said quickly. "I'm not the traitor."

Dante didn't lower his gun. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I came to warn you." Evan's voice was urgent, desperate. "I found out who the traitor is. It's not me. It's—"

A gunshot shattered the night.

Evan dropped to the ground.

Dante spun around, searching for the shooter. A figure disappeared into the darkness—a shadow, a whisper, gone before he could identify it.

Cassandra ran out of the safe room, her face white. "What happened?"

Dante was already on his knees beside Evan, pressing his hand to the wound in his brother's shoulder. Blood seeped through his fingers, warm and sticky.

"He's been shot. We need to get him help. Now."

---

They got Evan to a safe location—a private clinic Dante owned, off the books. A doctor Dante trusted tended to the wound. The bullet had missed the major arteries, but it was close. Too close.

Cassandra sat in the waiting room, her hands clasped in her lap, her heart pounding. Dante paced, his jaw tight, his eyes dark.

Hours passed. Then the doctor emerged.

"He's stable," the doctor said. "He's asking for you."

Dante went in alone.

Evan was propped up on the bed, his arm in a sling, his face pale but alert. He looked at Dante, and something in his expression shifted—relief, maybe. Or guilt.

"I'm sorry," Evan said quietly. "I should have told you sooner."

"Told me what?"

Evan took a breath. "I've been investigating. For weeks. I noticed things—strange things. People coming and going. Phone calls in the middle of the night. I didn't know what it meant, but I knew something was wrong."

"And?"

"I followed the trail. It led to Uncle Vincent." Evan's voice cracked. "He's been working with Marcus Kane. For years. He's the one who told them about the file. He's the one who's been feeding them information about you. About Cassandra. About everything."

Dante's blood ran cold. His father. The man he'd spent his life trying to impress. The man he'd defended. The man he'd forgiven.

The traitor.

---

Dante went to the mansion.

Alone.

Cassandra had tried to stop him, her hands gripping his arms, her eyes desperate. But he wouldn't listen. He needed to hear it from Vincent's own lips. He needed to see the truth in his father's eyes.

The mansion was quiet. The guards let him pass without question. He found Vincent in his study, sitting behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Vincent looked up. He didn't seem surprised.

"Dante." He set the glass down. "I wondered when you'd come."

"Did you do it?" Dante's voice was flat. "Did you betray us?"

Vincent was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"I did what I had to do," he said. "To protect this family. To protect you."

"By working with the man who killed Cassandra's mother?" Dante's voice was shaking. "By betraying everything we stand for?"

"By keeping us alive." Vincent's eyes were cold, unrepentant. "Marcus Kane was going to destroy us. He had evidence—evidence that would have sent us all to prison. I made a deal. I gave him what he wanted. And in return, he let us live."

"What did you give him?"

"Information. Access. The location of the file. Everything he needed to stay one step ahead."

Dante's hands curled into fists. "You let Grace Hayes die. You let Cassandra grow up without a mother. You let me believe you were a good man."

"I am a good man." Vincent's voice rose. "I did what I had to do to protect my family."

"You're not a good man." Dante's voice cracked. "You're a murderer. A traitor. A coward."

Vincent stood, his face reddening. "Watch your mouth."

"You killed her." Dante stepped closer, his eyes blazing. "You killed Grace Hayes. You destroyed Cassandra's life. You destroyed mine."

"I saved us."

"You saved yourself." Dante's voice was cold. "You saved your reputation. Your power. Your precious empire. You didn't save anyone."

Vincent stared at him. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—guilt, maybe. Or regret. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"What are you going to do?" Vincent asked. "Kill me?"

Dante's hand went to his gun. His fingers wrapped around the handle. He could do it. He could end this. Right here. Right now.

But he didn't.

"You're going to pay for what you've done," Dante said quietly. "Every crime. Every death. Every lie. You're going to rot in prison for the rest of your life."

Vincent laughed. "You think you can destroy me? You're nothing without me."

"I'm everything without you."

Dante turned and walked out. He didn't look back.

---

He returned to the safe house.

Cassandra was waiting, her face pale, her eyes red. She saw the look on his face and knew.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Dante shook his head. "Don't be. He deserves what's coming to him."

"He's your father."

"He was my father." Dante's voice cracked. "But he stopped being that a long time ago."

Cassandra crossed the room, pulling him into her arms. He held her tight, his face buried in her hair.

"I'm going to make him pay," he whispered. "For your mother. For you. For everything."

"I know," she said softly. "And I'll be right there with you."

---

That night, Dante received a text from an unknown number.

You think you've won. But you've forgotten the most important piece. The necklace. I still have it. And I know how to use it.

Marcus Kane.

Dante stared at the screen, his blood running cold.

Cassandra was already asleep beside him, her body curled against his. He didn't wake her. He didn't want to scare her.

But he knew—the war wasn't over. It was just beginning.