Dante played the video again, his eyes glued at the phone screen, his expression hard as stone, but something behind his eyes cracked open—something he'd kept buried for seven years.Five faces. Five people he'd personally killed or watched die in missions that were supposed to be sanitized, erased, forgotten.First face: Marcus "Reaper" Steele. Former teammate who'd gone rogue, started selling classified intel to hostile nations. Dante had shot him point-blank in the head in a Belgrade safehouse. Watched the body fall. Confirmed the kill himself.Second face: Elena Volkov. Russian assassin with twenty-three confirmed kills on American assets. Died in an explosion Dante had triggered in Moscow. Building collapsed. No survivors. DNA confirmed.Third face: James "Shadow" Park. Best infiltrator Dante had ever known, until he'd started taking contracts on both sides. Disappeared into the Pacific Ocean during an extraction gone wrong. Body never recovered, but the water was five hundred fe

Dante's questions came out rushed, loaded with anger. "You faked your death. Let your entire unit think you were dead. Let me grieve for you. WHY?"Nathaniel's laugh carried genuine amusement. "Because I was tired of taking orders from politicians who've never held a weapon. Tired of government bureaucracy that valued paperwork over results. I wanted to build something REAL. Something that answered to no one.""By becoming a criminal?" Dante's disgust bled through despite his attempt at control."By becoming FREE." Nathaniel's voice took on passionate conviction. "And I want to share that freedom with you, son. Come home. Lead my army. Together, we'll reshape this broken world into something functional. Something that actually works.""You traffic humans. You poison communities with drugs. You arm terrorists." Each word was accusation and condemnation. "You're a monster."Nathaniel's voice hardened, velvet giving way to the steel beneath. "I'm a REALIST. The world is full of monsters,

The hospital waiting room smelled of antiseptic and fear.Emma was in surgery—third hour now, surgeons fighting to save her crushed leg. Other children were stable, bandaged, some sleeping, some crying quietly for parents who held them with desperate gratitude.Sophia refused treatment for her burned hands. Sat in a plastic chair, palms wrapped in gauze she'd done herself, staring at nothing while waiting for news about Emma.Dante was getting stitches for a gash on his arm—falling beam had torn through flesh deep enough to see muscle. The doctor worked with efficient precision, needle pulling thread through skin. Dante didn't flinch. Didn't react. Pain was background noise compared to the twelve body bags.Vincent entered with his tablet, expression troubled in a way that meant bad news. "Boss, we have a problem. The explosion wasn't Nathaniel."Dante's head came up sharply. "What?"Vincent turned the tablet around, showing forensic analysis. "Bomb signature is wrong. Different maker

Reaper—Marcus's finger tightened on the trigger, weapon aimed directly at Sophia's head, smile spreading across his scarred face like a wound reopening.Dante stepped in front of her without hesitation, body positioning between the gun and the girl he'd sworn to protect. "You want revenge on me. Leave her out of this."Reaper's laugh was broken glass dragged across concrete. "You don't get it, do you? Revenge on you means EVERYTHING you love dies first. Just like my sister died because you put a bullet in my head before I could save her."Sophia pushed Dante aside with surprising strength, eyes blazing. "I'm not some damsel. I can fight my own battles."Her hand emerged from her jacket holding the concealed knife Dante had given her weeks ago—small, balanced, deadly in trained hands. She dropped into a fighting stance he'd taught her during those long nights when neither could sleep."Come try me, scarface."Reaper's expression shifted from amusement to genuine respect. "The girl has

Dante strained against the chains with desperate violence, metal cutting into his wrists, blood running down his hands and dripping to the concrete floor. He didn't care. Pain was irrelevant when twelve lives hung in the balance.Nathaniel watched with clinical interest, tablet in hand displaying biometric data. "Your vitals are elevated. Heart rate one hundred forty beats per minute. Adrenaline spiking. Cortisol levels rising. Good. You'll need that energy for what comes next.""I won't play your game." The words emerged through gritted teeth."You will." Nathaniel's voice carried absolute certainty. He scrolled through faces on the tablet with casual ease, considering options like someone choosing a restaurant. "Because the alternative is watching everyone you care about die. Starting with..." His finger paused on one image. "Let's say... young Emma. The girl you saved from the school."Dante's eyes widened, rage and horror warring for dominance. "She's in a hospital. She's SEVEN YEA