THE UNDERESTIMATED UNDERWORLD KING

WHO'S THE PHANTOM?

Marcus's laugh came out strangled. "Mr. Westfield, you must be mistaken. Dante is just a—he's nobody! He's been living off his wife's charity for three years! Sleeping in our attic like a servant!"

Westfield's expression turned glacial. "Living off charity? Mr. Reid, this 'nobody' facilitated seventeen of my international deals over the past decade. When my daughter was kidnapped three years ago, he recovered her in forty-eight hours when the FBI failed. The ransom was five million. He returned her unharmed and eliminated the threat permanently."

The ballroom had gone so quiet that Scarlett could hear her own heartbeat. She stared at Dante—at this stranger wearing her husband's face—and felt reality fracturing around her. "That's impossible. You're lying. Dante can't even afford his own phone plan. He doesn't have connections. He doesn't have—"

Her voice died as memories replayed with new context. Three years of miraculous luck. Threats that vanished. Deals that materialized from nowhere. The way Dante's eyes sometimes looked like they saw through everything.

Dante finally spoke, his tone measured. "Mr. Westfield, I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I appreciate the compliment, but I'm just a man who recently decided to stop living small."

He didn't confirm. He didn't deny. The ambiguity hung in the air like smoke.

Westfield's knowing smile said everything his words didn't. "Of course. My apologies for the confusion." But he didn't move away from Dante, and his body language still radiated respect that made everyone notice.

Marcus's phone buzzed. Then another investor's. Then three more in rapid succession. People started pulling out devices, faces shifting from celebration to concern.

An investor—Gregory Mitchell, Scarlett recognized him—approached Victoria with hurried steps. "Mrs. Hayes, I need to speak with you urgently. Our funding commitment may need immediate review."

"What? Gregory, we had an agreement—"

"That was before certain financial irregularities came to light. We'll discuss this privately." His tone left no room for argument.

More phones buzzed. More worried glances. Investors who'd been celebrating Marcus's genius minutes ago were now huddling in corners, voices low and urgent. One woman actually walked out without saying goodbye.

Scarlett caught Vincent typing on his phone, fingers moving with practiced efficiency. He looked up, caught her watching, and smiled like a wolf.

"This is sabotage!" Marcus's voice cracked as he pointed at Dante. "You're trying to ruin me because Scarlett chose a real man over you! You pathetic, jealous—"

"Chose you?" Scarlett's head whipped toward Marcus so fast her neck protested. "Marcus, what are you talking about? We're business associates and friends, nothing more."

The lie tasted like ash even as she said it. Her face betrayed her, heat flooding her cheeks, and she knew everyone saw it.

Victoria's eyes narrowed, studying the space between her daughter and Marcus like she could read the truth written there. "Scarlett... Don't tell me you have been having an affair..."

Marcus's desperation was visible now, sweat beading his hairline. The room was collapsing around him, and he made the calculation of a drowning man. "Yes, we're together! Scarlett loves me, not this pathetic excuse for a man! I've given her everything—success, passion, a future! What did he ever give her except three years of embarrassment?"

Camera flashes exploded. The society reporters surged forward, phones recording, headlines already forming. Scarlett felt her reputation shredding in real time, felt the weight of hundreds of judging eyes.

She looked at Dante, waiting for rage, for accusations, for anything. He just looked at her with eyes colder than winter.

"I hope he was worth it." He said, then turned toward the exit.

"Wait—that's it?" The words burst from Scarlett before she could stop them. "No anger? No fighting for me?"

Dante paused, glanced back over his shoulder. "Fighting for you would imply you're worth fighting for. You made your choice, Scarlett. You chose a man who stole credit for other people's work, who lied to your face daily, who used your family as a stepping stone." His voice carried across the ballroom, ensuring everyone heard. "You chose that over a man who asked nothing and gave everything. I don't fight for things that should have recognized their value. I let them go, and watch them discover what they've lost."

He walked out. Vincent followed.

The ballroom erupted into chaos—investors rushing for exits, reporters shouting questions, Victoria's voice shrill as she screamed at Marcus. Scarlett stood frozen in the center of it all, watching the doors Dante had disappeared through.

Marcus checked his phone and his face went from red to white in seconds. "No... no, this can't be happening."

"What?" Victoria grabbed his arm. "What is it?"

"My accounts. They're frozen. All of them." His fingers flew across the screen. "My contacts aren't answering. The deals I had lined up are falling apart. It's like..." He looked up, realization dawning with visible horror. "It's like someone pulled a switch and everything connected to me just died."

His phone chimed with an email. He read it, and his hand started shaking.

[You stole credit from the Phantom for three years. He allowed it because it served his purpose. Now that purpose is done. Enjoy the next 48 hours before everyone you've wronged learns you're no longer protected.]

"What does that mean?" Scarlett leaned over to read it. "Who's the Phantom?"

Marcus didn't answer. He was staring at the doors Dante had left through, understanding finally settling into his features. "Oh God. It was him. The whole time, it was him."

Victoria snatched the phone from Marcus's hand. "What are you babbling about? What was who?"

Marcus’s hands were visibly shaking now. The investor. The miracle deals. The protection and everything he stole credit for. They were all done by the legendary Phantom, and now Dante seems to be the phantom.

Marcus crashed down hard in the nearest chair. Dante has been the one pulling strings. And they've been treating him like trash while he held them all in the palm of his hand. The realization weighed down on him.

Victoria’s phone suddenly rang. The screen showed her private banker. She answered, listened, then her face drained of color. "What do you mean the creditors are furious? Why now?"

She hung up, turned to Scarlett and Marcus with wild eyes. "My gambling debts. The ones that mysteriously vanished two years ago. The creditors said the person who interfered and made a deal with them has just backed out. They're now angry and they're coming to collect what they believe I still owe them—with interest."

The pieces clicked together in Marcus's mind, sharp and painful. He then suddenly rose to his feet and slipped away through the crowd.

______

Across the city, Dante stood at floor-to-ceiling windows in a penthouse suite that cost more per night than most people's monthly mortgage. The lights of the city spread below him like scattered diamonds.

Vincent entered, tablet in hand. "Boss, Protocol Severance is forty percent complete. Hayes Corp will start feeling the consequences by morning. Marcus Reid's fraudulent deals are being exposed to all his victims. Mrs. Hayes's gambling debts that you paid off? The creditors now know they were paid—and they're very angry someone interfered with their leverage. Do we continue?"

Dante opened his mouth to answer when his phone rang. Unknown number. He almost declined, then something made him answer.

"Yes?"

"Hello, Lord Phantom." A woman's voice, sophisticated and amused, like she was sharing a private joke. "We've never met, but I've been watching you for three years. My name is Isabella Ashford, and I have very useful information you need—about why Leonard Hayes really begged you to marry his daughter. It wasn't just about protection. It was about an inheritance you don't even know exists. Let's meet tomorrow at the Obsidian Gallery, noon. Come alone."

The line went dead before Dante could respond.

Vincent looked up from his tablet, concern creasing his forehead. "Boss, Isabella Ashford is—"

"I know who she is." Dante pocketed the phone, intrigued despite himself. "The Ice Queen of Manhattan's art world. Worth billions. Untouchable reputation. What could she possibly want with me?"

"Nothing good, I'd wager. She doesn't make social calls."

"Then I suppose I should find out what kind of call this is." Dante turned from the window. "Prepare a full background workup. I want to know everything about Isabella Ashford by morning. And Vincent? Accelerate Protocol Severance. I want Hayes Corp feeling the full weight of their choices by sunrise."

Vincent smiled. "With pleasure, boss. Should I arrange security for the gallery meeting?"

"No. She said come alone, so I'll come alone." Dante's expression was unreadable. "After all, what's life without a little risk?”