Dante’s POVThe warehouse reeks of rust and piss and the fresh copper stink of blood that's still warm on my hands. I wipe the blade across the last guy's cheek one more time, slow and deliberate, watching the skin part like butter before the red wells up thick and dark. He's long gone, eyes rolled back glassy, body hanging limp from the meat hook, but I drag the edge anyway, letting the ritual calm the storm raging in my chest.Someone got ballsy enough to put bullets in my men at my own goddamn wedding. On the day I made Elena mine. That kind of disrespect? It ends in guts on the floor."Talk," I say low, even though the fucker can't anymore. His jaw hangs slack, tongue lolling like a dead dog's.One of my lieutenants, Nico, shifts behind me, boots scraping concrete. "Boss, he's been dead ten minutes. Ain't sayin' shit now."I stand up slow, roll my shoulders, feel the wet pull of blood-soaked shirt against my skin. "Then find me someone who can still scream. I want names, Nico. Th
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