Dante's expression didn't change, but his hand moved with surgical precision toward the concealed weapon at his waist.Scarlett noticed nothing. Too drunk on her own performance."Tell me more about this Dragon King," Dante said, voice perfectly calm, buying precious seconds.Scarlett's confidence bloomed like poison flowers. "He controls everything west of the Mississippi. Drugs, weapons, human trafficking—industries you can't even imagine." She leaned closer, savoring every word. "Mother promised him the Hayes Archive in exchange for your death. Simple transaction."Behind them, Vincent's hand signals were invisible to anyone not trained to see them. Three operatives melted into position around Scarlett's location, shadows with guns.Dante took a subtle step backward. "And you're telling me this because...?"Scarlett reached for him, desperation flooding her voice like rehearsed theater. "Because I love you! I always have! Marcus was a mistake, Mother poisoned my mind against you!"

The bullet struck Dante's hand before his finger reached the detonator.Pain exploded through his palm—white-hot and surgical—as the device spun away across the pavement. Blood sprayed in an arc, painting the ground crimson.Sniper. Long range. Impossible shot.Dante dove for cover, his wounded hand already assessing the damage even through the agony. Clean through the palm. No bone fragments. Professional work from a master marksman at a distance that shouldn't have been possible.Scarlett's laughter cut through the night air like broken glass. "HE'S HERE! The Dragon King is here!"The sky erupted with mechanical thunder.A massive helicopter descended from the darkness—military grade, bristling with weapons, spotlight lancing down to pin Dante's team in a circle of blinding white light. The downdraft scattered debris and forced everyone to shield their eyes.A voice boomed through speakers, cultured British accent wrapped around steel authority. "Phantom Lord. We finally meet."Dant

Scarlett scrambled backward across the blood-slicked pavement, injured hand leaving smears behind her. "Wait! I can help you! I know Drake's weaknesses!"Dante advanced with measured steps, each one deliberate as a heartbeat. "You fed my aunt's body to dogs.""That was Mother's idea!" Scarlett's desperation bled through every syllable. "I didn't want to—""You tried to kill Sophia six times."His voice carried no emotion. No rage. No heat. Just cold statement of fact, which somehow made it more terrifying than screaming ever could."She was a THREAT! She didn't deserve—"Dante's hand shot out like a striking cobra, fingers closing around Scarlett's throat. He lifted her off the ground effortlessly, her feet kicking uselessly at air, hands clawing at his wrist with weakening strength.She couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Could only choke as her face shifted from red to purple, consciousness beginning to fade at the edges."Dante..." Isabella's voice cut through the moment, torn betwee

The senior marshal—name tag reading "JACKSON"—studied Dante with the practiced skepticism of someone who'd survived two decades in federal service by trusting no one."Why should we trust you?"Dante's response was immediate and brutal in its honesty. "Because if I wanted Harold dead, all three of you would be dead already. I breached your perimeter, got to your door, and you never saw me coming."Jackson's jaw tightened. The truth of it sat heavy in the room—no alarms had triggered, no motion sensors had activated, no early warning systems had flagged Dante's approach. He'd walked right up to the front door like he owned the place."Drake has a woman I care about." Dante's voice remained flat, controlled, but something beneath it burned cold. "He has her in a cage with dogs. The same dogs he used to desecrate a grave. I'm going to destroy him." His pause was deliberate. "Question is: are you going to help, or stand in my way?"Harold's voice emerged shakily from near the window. "If.

Dante's eyes flashed with something cold and deadly. "You lied."Drake shrugged, the gesture almost elegant in its casual cruelty. "I'm a criminal. What did you expect? Honor?"Dante's hands clenched at his sides, mind calculating automatically. Twelve armed men visible. All professionals. Overlapping fields of fire. Kill zones at every angle. Sophia's cage positioned where any gunfight would endanger her. Perfect defensive setup.Drake continued, savoring every word like expensive wine. "Here's your real first assignment: Kill James Westfield. The billionaire who's been helping you. I want him dead by tomorrow, or Sophia dies. Publicly. Painfully. And before you think about attacking me—"He snapped his fingers.Screens flickered to life across the warehouse walls—massive displays that hadn't been visible in the dim lighting. Each screen showed a different cage. A different hostage. A different person Dante recognized with sickening clarity.Fifteen cages. Fifteen hostages.Dante's b