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Valemont Correctional Facility – Ten Years Ago
The sound of keys rattling against iron bars echoed like gunshots in the long concrete corridor. Back then, Dante Moretti didn't look like a ghost. He looked like a man trapped inside one. Stripped of everything—his reputation, his family, his place in the world—he sat behind bars, accused of betraying the one thing he'd bled for: the Vultures.
The memory still burned hot.
Warden Halberd had called it a "mercy deal." Dante would serve time in isolation, no visitors, no trial, no name on the papers. In exchange, the streets would forget he ever existed. They wanted him erased, buried alive. A punishment worse than death.
Dante accepted the offer for one reason.
Survival.
He needed time to think. To piece together the betrayal. To remember the faces of those who watched his life burn and called it justice.
Each day in that 6x8 cell was a war between rage and reason.
But he didn't scream.
He trained. He plotted. He endured.
And when they finally released him—without a file, without fanfare, dumped on a back road near the state line—he walked into exile, not as a broken man, but as a weapon forged in silence.
Now, ten years later, that weapon had returned to Valemont.
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Present Day – The Whisper Room
The Whisper Room was a high-end jazz lounge hidden beneath a five-star hotel in Midtown Valemont. On the surface, it was a quiet retreat for elite clientele. But below the surface, it served as a neutral ground for criminals, politicians, and anyone rich enough to keep their secrets in whiskey and piano chords.
Dante walked in wearing a tailored coat, his features sharp in the ambient gold light. He didn't look like a man who had once slept in prison rags. He looked like power with a scar.
The hostess glanced up and froze.
"Sir… do you have a reservation?"
He didn't answer. He just smiled faintly.
In the far booth, Carmen Sorrento sat alone, sipping a glass of red wine, pretending not to notice the man walking toward her. But Dante knew she saw him. Her fingers twitched slightly, brushing the handbag where a gun was no doubt tucked inside.
He slid into the booth across from her.
Carmen didn't blink. "You're supposed to be dead."
"You're supposed to be in Italy," he replied.
She smirked. "They canceled my flight when word hit the street."
"Pike talk?"
"Pike screams."
A tense silence passed.
"Why now?" she asked finally.
Dante leaned forward. "Because the Vultures still fly, and I still have bullets."
"You're outnumbered."
"Not outwilled."
"You're insane."
"Maybe."
Carmen glanced down at her glass. "You're going after Nico, aren't you?"
Dante's voice dropped. "One by one. Every last one who touched my family."
She sighed, pushed her wine aside. "Then you'll need help."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why would you help me?"
"Because I know what Nico's planning," she said. "And it's bigger than you. Bigger than revenge."
"What is it?"
Carmen hesitated, then whispered: "The council's moving. International. They're restructuring the Vultures into something bigger. Smarter. Deadlier. He's not just consolidating power. He's building an empire."
Dante's jaw tightened. "Then I'll burn it down."
---
University District – Aria's Search Deepens
Aria sat cross-legged on the floor of the campus library, surrounded by piles of old newspapers, printed articles, and her ever-growing notebook. Her laptop glowed in front of her, tabs open on cold cases, old gang reports, and stories involving the Vultures.
She hadn't told anyone what she was doing—not even Jess. Not the campus police, not the faculty.
Somewhere deep inside, she knew this wasn't just about curiosity anymore. It was obsession.
And something else.
She felt drawn to him. The man who had saved her life. The way he had moved—the fury in his eyes, the way he shielded her like it was instinct. Not the act of a criminal. The act of a protector.
A dangerous one, maybe. But not evil.
She cross-referenced timelines from gang activity and missing persons cases. And then—she found it.
A photo. A grainy surveillance image from ten years ago. A younger version of the man she met—Dante Moretti—being dragged by officers into a black van. No public trial. No records after that. Just... gone.
Aria whispered, "So you were real…"
She saved the image to her phone and jotted in her journal:
> Name: Dante Moretti. Former Vultures enforcer. Framed. Vanished. Now he's back. Why save me?
She didn't have answers. But she was getting closer.
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The Lock Opens
Back in the South Docks, Dante approached a warehouse that hadn't been used in years. It was where Ivan Marovich—nicknamed The Lock—trained soldiers for the Vultures. Once, Ivan had been Dante's closest ally, a beast of a man who believed in loyalty like scripture.
Until the day he disappeared, two days before Dante's downfall.
Dante slipped in through the back, careful not to trigger alarms. He moved through the dark hallways, each step familiar. He remembered blood on the mats, broken ribs, old scars traded with laughter.
But tonight there would be no laughter.
He found Ivan in the backroom, weightlifting.
The man hadn't changed. Still built like a tank, his arms corded with muscle, tattoos crawling up his neck like black vines.
When Ivan saw him, the barbell froze in mid-air.
A pause.
Then—
"You're a ghost," Ivan rumbled.
"No," Dante replied. "I'm the reckoning."
They stared at each other for a long, dangerous moment.
Then Ivan laughed.
---
Old Brothers, New Lines
"You look like hell," Ivan said, handing Dante a beer.
"You look like the gym ate you."
They sat side by side on a bench, the silence between them holding years of unanswered questions.
"You left me," Dante said finally.
"They told me you were dead. That you flipped. That your family had turned."
"You believed it?"
"I wanted to believe you were dead," Ivan said quietly. "Because the alternative meant I had abandoned my brother."
Dante looked at him, eyes hard. "I needed you."
"I know."
Another silence.
Then Ivan stood up. "What now?"
"I'm taking them down," Dante said. "All of them. One by one."
Ivan nodded slowly. "Then count me in."
---
End of Chapter Hook
Elsewhere, Carmen Sorrento sat in her penthouse, staring out at the Valemont skyline. She poured another drink and whispered to herself:
"This city isn't ready for what's coming."
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