THE BLIND SOVEREIGN: King of The Underworld

CHAPTER 6: Symphony of Rain and Bullets

The Tuscan sky gave way. Torrential rain poured over the Moretti estate, turning the ground into mud and creating a wall of white noise deafening to normal ears. Yet in the abandoned back garden of the villa, Dante Moretti stood perfectly still. He wore no shirt, letting the ice-cold water strike skin carved with scars.

Dante closed his eyes, eyes that no longer functioned. He was not bracing against the cold. He was mapping.

“You will die of pneumonia before you ever get the chance to kill Lorenzo if you keep this up,” Elena’s voice called from the terrace, nearly swallowed by the roar of rain.

“Be quiet, Elena. Do not disrupt my frequency,” Dante replied without turning.

“Frequency? You are standing in the middle of a storm like a madman. What are you even looking for?”

Dante inhaled slowly. “I am looking for form. Every raindrop that strikes the objects around me sends back an echo. In my head, there is no darkness anymore. I can see the silhouette of the olive trees at two o’clock. I can see the rusted iron fence at ten o’clock. And I can see you. You are holding an umbrella in your left hand and hiding a pistol in the right pocket of your robe.”

Elena froze. She glanced at her own hands, then stared at Dante in horror. “How could you possibly know that?”

“The sound of your robe brushing as you shift your weight. The metal of the gun dampens the sound of rain falling near your right pocket. It is not synchronized with your left side.”

“You are no longer human, Dante. You are becoming something terrifying.”

“A blind man is a victim, Elena. I chose to become radar.” Dante stepped forward, walking across the slick ground with absolute certainty, as if he could see every pebble beneath his feet. “Come here. We need to talk.”

Elena approached, trying to shelter him with the umbrella, but Dante sidestepped it. “Do not. I need to feel the water on my skin. Tell me, what do you see at the front gate?”

“Two new guards. Lorenzo replaced Enzo’s men after what you did last night. They are more professional. Long guns, body armor, and they are not drinking.”

“Good. That means Lorenzo is starting to feel afraid.” Dante allowed himself a faint smile. “Do they have tracking dogs?”

“No. Why?”

“Because Marcus will arrive soon. Dogs would interfere with his concentration.”

Elena frowned. “Marcus? Who is Marcus? You said we had no allies.”

“He is not an ally. He is an instrument. The only man who still owes me his life from before the explosion.”

Suddenly, Dante raised a hand, signaling Elena to be silent. He turned his head toward the dense bushes on the western side of the villa. “He is here.”

Elena immediately drew her pistol and aimed into the darkness. “I do not hear anything except the rain.”

“Underground, Elena. An old drainage channel,” Dante whispered.

A hidden manhole cover beneath the bushes shifted slowly. A lean man in black tactical gear crawled out. His face was smeared with mud, but his eyes were sharp as a hawk’s. It was Marcus, the former head of Moretti internal security who vanished after Lorenzo’s faction seized control.

Marcus stood upright and stared at Dante in disbelief, ignoring the gun pointed at him. “Signore Moretti? They said you were finished.”

“My death was exaggerated, Marcus,” Dante said calmly. “You are two minutes late from the schedule I sent through encrypted message last night.”

“There were additional patrols in the northern sector, sir. Lorenzo sealed off all exits,” Marcus replied, then hesitated as his gaze lingered on Dante’s dark glasses. “Is it true… the rumors about your eyes?”

“I am blind, Marcus. Do not waste time pitying me. Did you bring what I asked for?”

Marcus nodded and opened a waterproof bag. “Satellite data, shadow account lists Lorenzo did not manage to lock, and a secure communication device. But sir, how are you going to use all this?”

“I have Elena. She is my eyes now.” Dante gestured toward his wife. “Elena, this is Marcus. He will handle our logistics outside this villa.”

Elena lowered her weapon, though her gaze remained sharp. “How do I know he is not working for Lorenzo?”

Marcus snorted coldly. “Lorenzo slaughtered my entire team in Milan to erase the trail of his betrayal. If I were working for him, I would not be crawling through sewage just to meet a man everyone thinks is already dead.”

“Fair enough,” Elena muttered.

“Sit,” Dante ordered, moving toward a stone table beneath a large tree that offered slight protection from the rain. “Marcus, give your report. What is Lorenzo doing with the merger?”

“Chaos, sir. He is trying to force a contract with the Triad, but they do not like his way of doing business. He is arrogant and careless. Moretti Holdings stock is starting to wobble on the black market. Investors are asking where you really are.”

“He needs validation,” Dante said, tapping his fingers against the stone in a steady rhythm. “He needs my signature, or at least confirmation that I am truly dead, for his power to become absolute.”

“He plans to hold a major conference next week,” Marcus added. “He wants to announce his permanent appointment as head of the family.”

“He will not live long enough to do that,” Dante said, turning his head toward Marcus. Though his eyes were hidden, Marcus felt as if he were being examined by an X-ray beam. “How many Swiss assets can we still access with my fingerprint?”

“None, sir. He replaced all biometric access with his own.”

“But he did not change the voice command for the emergency ‘Nightfall’ protocol, did he?”

Marcus stiffened. “Nightfall? Sir, that is the nuclear option. If you activate it, the entire Moretti financial system will freeze. Lorenzo will be bankrupt overnight, but so will you.”

“I was already bankrupt when I lost my eyes, Marcus. Money is only a tool. Now I will use that tool to tighten around his throat.”

Elena spoke up, sensing the conversation crossing into open war. “What do you need from me?”

“You must go to Milan, Elena. Marcus will get you into the charity gala Lorenzo is hosting tomorrow night. You will plant this transponder under his desk at headquarters.” Dante pulled a small chip from his pocket, something he had recovered from the secret room the night before.

“That is suicide,” Elena snapped. “That office is guarded by top-tier mercenaries.”

“They guard it against outside threats, Elena. Not against the beloved ‘sister-in-law’ who comes bearing reconciliation documents.” Dante smiled coldly. “You will go as my envoy. Tell him you want to negotiate the terms of my eternal silence in this villa. He will let you in because his ego will want to see you beg.”

“And if he decides to kill me too?”

“He will not do it in front of important guests. He needs the image of a dignified leader, not a woman butcherer. Use your charm. Use your hatred as fuel.”

Elena stared at the chip in Dante’s hand. “You are very certain I can do this.”

“I have no other choice, Elena. And neither do you, if you want justice for your father.”

Marcus cleared his throat. “Sir, there is one more issue. Lorenzo has hired a mercenary known as ‘The Ghost’ to ensure you never leave this villa alive. He was the one who sent the team last night.”

“The Ghost? A dull name for someone who is about to become a real one,” Dante said as he stood, rainwater still streaming from his hair. “Let him come. This villa is my labyrinth now. Here, I decide who keeps breathing.”

“Marcus,” Dante added.

“Yes, sir?”

“Find out where they buried my loyal guards. I want their names. When I return to Milan, I want to know who must be rewarded, and who must be sent to lie in the same graves.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Go now before the front guard shift changes. Elena, take him through the underground exit.”

After Marcus and Elena left, Dante remained in the rain. He spread his arms, feeling every drop strike his skin. The rain had become an orchestra to him. He could hear the heartbeat of a distant guard smoking on patrol, the smell of tobacco reaching his nose along with the flick of a lighter.

Two hundred meters. Twelve o’clock.

Dante picked up a small stone from the ground and hurled it with measured force.

The stone struck a metal pole near the guard, producing a sharp clang that made the man jump.

“Who is there?” the guard shouted into the storm.

Dante did not answer. He stood still, letting the darkness and rain conceal him. He had just proven something to himself. He did not need eyes to spread fear.

“Enjoy your night, Lorenzo,” Dante whispered into the storm wind. “Because from today on, every time the rain falls, you will hear my footsteps drawing closer to your throat.”

Minutes later, Elena returned. She found Dante standing in the same place, as if he were part of the stone statues in the garden.

“Marcus is gone. He will meet me at the pickup point at six tomorrow morning,” Elena said, her voice softer now. “Dante… do you really believe we can win?”

Dante turned toward her voice. “Win? Elena, we lost from the very beginning. This is no longer about winning. It is about who is still standing last on the ruins.”

“You are so cold.”

“Ice cannot burn, Elena. But ice can shatter the largest ship if the ship is foolish enough to hit it. Lorenzo is that ship. And I am the iceberg he thought had already melted.”

Elena stepped closer and touched Dante’s arm, cold as a corpse. “Come inside. You need rest. Tomorrow will be long.”

“Sleep first, Elena. I still want to listen to the rain. It is telling me the position of every guard out there. They think they are watching me, when in truth, I am dissecting them one by one in my mind.”

Elena looked at her husband with conflicted emotion. Awe was beginning to grow atop the foundation of her hatred. She saw a man who had lost everything, yet somehow seemed more powerful than when he still had his sight.

“Do not die tonight, Dante Moretti,” Elena whispered before turning toward the villa.

“Death does not dare come for me, Elena. It knows I would take its job if it tried,” Dante replied flatly.

Dante remained there, standing within the symphony of rain. In his mind, the next moves of the chessboard were already forming. One move for Elena in Milan, one for Marcus in Switzerland, and one final move for himself in the heart of the Moretti darkness.

That night, the rain over Tuscany carried more than water. It carried the echo of a destruction being planned with meticulous care. The Oracle had awakened, and his new world had no concept of mercy.