Semua Bab A Contract With The Devil in a Suit: Bab 21 - Bab 30

The sedative didn’t last as long as Leonard had expected.Perhaps Dante’s body had reached its limit after enduring too much trauma, or perhaps the fire of rage burning in his chest acted as the purest antidote.When Dante opened his eyes, he was no longer in the wrecked study.He was lying on the living room sofa.Outside, police sirens wailed in the distance, slicing through the tense silence of the New York night.Leonard stood near the large glass window with his back turned to Dante. He spoke quietly into a communication radio, issuing final instructions to his security team to prepare the helicopter waiting on the building’s helipad.Dante felt the cold marble floor beneath his feet as he slipped silently off the sofa.His head still throbbed, but his eyes were clear.Too clear.On the coffee table nearby sat a porcelain plate with sliced apples that had already browned in the air. Beside it lay a small fruit knife with a silver handle glinting under the emergency lights.Withou

The air in Switzerland was different—sharper, cleaner, and devoid of the heavy, suffocating scent of sandalwood and expensive tobacco that had defined Dante’s life for so long. Here, in a small, private clinic overlooking the serene waters of Lake Geneva, the world felt as though it were made of crystal. It was beautiful, yes, but it was also fragile, a glass world that Dante feared might shatter at any moment if he breathed too loudly.Six months had passed since the night the gold-plated cage on the fifty-fifth floor had been raided. Six months since Dante had watched the silhouette of Leonard Virelli shrink into a speck of darkness against the flashing blue and red lights of the law.Now, Dante sat in a plush armchair by a large bay window, his lap covered by a wool blanket. He looked at his hands. They were still thin, but the tremors had mostly subsided. The bruises on his wrists and the livid marks on his neck had faded into pale, silvery ghosts of memories, visible only if one

The Swiss Alps were supposed to be the ultimate sanctuary. The village of Lauterbrunnen, with its towering limestone cliffs and seventy-two waterfalls, felt like a place where time stood still, far removed from the predatory glass towers of Manhattan. For three months, Dante had lived in a modest but elegant chalet on the outskirts of the village. The air was perpetually scented with pine and the crisp promise of snow, a stark contrast to the cloying, artificial luxury he had left behind.His mother, Maria, was making strides that the doctors called miraculous. She could now sit in the sun-drenched sunroom for hours, sipping herbal tea and watching the paragliders drift like colorful petals against the blue sky. She was regaining her speech, though she often spoke of the past—of the small apartment they had shared before the "darkness" fell. She remembered the warmth of Dante’s father, Adrian, but the years of her illness remained a merciful blur. To her, Leonard Virelli was merely a

That night, New York felt like it belonged to Dante for the first time—though that sense of ownership came with a suffocating bitterness. He didn’t return to the cheap hotel in Queens. With a brief instruction to Stefan, the black car glided toward one of Leonard’s hidden properties on the Upper East Side—a townhouse unlisted among the assets seized by the government, a place known only to the innermost circle of the shadow king.As Dante stepped inside, the scent of beeswax candles and oak wood greeted him. The place was cold, silent, and grand, yet Dante no longer felt like a guest afraid of staining the carpet. He walked into the center of the room, removed his coat, and let it fall carelessly to the floor. His reflection stared back at him from a large gilded mirror; he saw a man who still bore Dante’s face, but with eyes stolen from Leonard Virelli.“Mr. Dante,” Marco emerged from the dim hallway, his voice steady, though a new layer of respect lingered beneath it. “All undetecte

The silence in the townhouse felt heavy, as if the air itself were made of lead. Dante woke on the study sofa with a stiff neck and a bitter taste lingering on his tongue. He hadn’t even had time to compose himself when Marco entered, carrying a small wooden box carved with an old floral pattern—an object that stood in stark contrast to the room’s cold luxury.“This just arrived via a special courier from a storage vault in New Jersey,” Marco said. “Mr. Leonard’s instructions were to deliver it directly to you, without going through standard security checks.”Dante stared at the box. His heart began to pound—a reflexive reaction that always surfaced whenever Leonard sent him a “message.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady the tremor in his hands, then lifted the lid.Inside, resting on faded velvet, lay an old silver pocket watch. It no longer ticked, its glass cracked at one corner, but on the back were engraved initials: A.A.Adrian Adrian. His father.A crushing weight tighten