Chapter 4: The 43-Second Massacre
The communication device felt foreign in Dante's hands after five years. It was a small crystal orb, the kind used by military commanders to send urgent messages across great distances. He'd been given it by General Stone the day he left for exile.
"Only use this if you have no other choice," Stone had said.
Dante stared at the orb, then carefully placed it back in the box. Not yet. He'd promised Isabella two days, and he would give her a solution. But he wouldn't break his exile unless necessary.
There were other ways to handle Marcus Thorne.
The next morning, Dante arrived at the warehouse before dawn. Tom came early as well, his face troubled.
"Heard about yesterday at the mayor's house. That Thorne bastard has Isabella trapped."
"Not yet," Dante said quietly.
Around midday, a commotion erupted outside. Shouting, followed by the sound of something crashing. Dante, Isabella, and Tom rushed to the warehouse entrance.
A crowd had gathered in the street. At the center stood Marcus Thorne with four guards. They were harassing Old Man Fischer, who owned the bakery below Dante's room.
"I'm telling you, the rent just increased," Marcus said loudly. "New ownership means new prices."
"New ownership?" Fischer sputtered. "I've owned this building for thirty years!"
"Not anymore." Marcus produced a document. "I purchased the deed yesterday. This property, along with six others on this street, now belongs to me. The rent is now triple."
"Triple? That's robbery!"
"Then you'll vacate by week's end." Marcus smiled. "Business is business."
Isabella gasped beside Dante. "He's buying up the street. All the buildings around my warehouse."
Marcus noticed them watching and strolled over, his guards flanking him.
"Miss Grey! How fortuitous." He gestured at the buildings. "I've been making investments in Ashford. Wonderful little town." His eyes locked on Isabella. "Of course, if we were to become partners, I could be very generous with the rents. Family rates."
"You're a monster," Isabella said quietly.
"I'm a businessman. I see opportunity and I take it." Marcus leaned closer. "Have you given more thought to my offer? Your father looked quite ill yesterday. Time is not on your side."
Something snapped in Isabella. Five years of struggling, of watching her father sicken, of carrying impossible weight. She stepped forward and slapped Marcus across the face.
The street went silent.
Marcus touched his reddening cheek, his pleasant expression evaporating. "You little bitch."
He grabbed Isabella's wrist, yanking her toward him. "You think you can refuse me? Humiliate me? I'll destroy you. I'll destroy your father. I'll burn your warehouse—"
Dante moved.
His hand locked around Marcus's wrist. The pressure was precise, finding the nerve cluster. Marcus's hand sprang open involuntarily, releasing Isabella.
"Don't touch her," Dante said quietly.
Marcus stared in shock, then fury. "You dare? Guards! Teach this traitor what happens when commoners forget their place!"
The four guards converged on Dante.
They lasted forty-three seconds.
The first guard swung at Dante's head. Dante slipped the punch, caught the extended arm, and drove the man face-first into the warehouse wall. The guard dropped.
The second rushed from behind. Dante spun, his elbow catching the man in the solar plexus. A palm strike to the chin sent him sprawling.
The third and fourth attacked together. Dante moved like water, flowing between their grasping hands. A strike to one's knee buckled the leg. A hammerfist to the other's collarbone and he was done.
The entire fight was perfectly silent except for impacts. No wasted movement. No excessive force. Just brutal, military efficiency.
Dante stood breathing normally while four guards lay groaning around him. The crowd stared in shocked silence.
Marcus's face had gone white. "You... you..."
"I warned you not to touch her," Dante said calmly. He looked at Marcus with eyes that had commanded armies. "This is your only warning. Leave Ashford. Leave Isabella and her father alone. Don't come back."
"Do you know who I am?" Marcus sputtered. "I'll have you arrested! Executed!"
"You'll do nothing," Dante interrupted quietly. "Because if you hurt Isabella or her father in any way, I will find you. And what happened to your guards will seem gentle."
For the first time, Marcus Thorne felt genuine fear. The warehouse worker he'd dismissed was looking at him like a predator evaluating prey.
Marcus stumbled backward. "This isn't over, Blackwell! You've just made a terrible mistake! I have friends in the capital! Power!"
"Run along, Marcus," Dante said quietly. "Before I change my mind about letting you walk away."
Marcus ran. He scrambled into his carriage, screaming at the driver. The vehicle took off at a dangerous speed, leaving his guards behind.
The street remained silent. Then Tom started laughing, breaking the tension. Others joined in, cheering. Old Man Fischer grabbed Dante's hand.
"By the gods, boy! That was incredible!"
But Dante wasn't celebrating. He turned to Isabella, who stood frozen, staring at him.
"Isabella—"
"Who are you?" she whispered. "You moved like... like..."
"Like someone who had military training," Dante finished quietly.
"No." Isabella shook her head. "I've seen soldiers fight. That wasn't regular training. That was something else." She stepped closer. "The Dragon Commander. The stories say he could take down a dozen men alone. That he moved like death itself."
Dante said nothing, which was answer enough.
Isabella's eyes widened. "The Dragon Commander was supposedly killed five years ago. Same time Dante Blackwell was convicted of treason." Understanding dawned. "They're the same person. You're—"
"We should go inside," Dante interrupted, glancing at the crowd. "Too many ears."
Isabella nodded numbly and followed him into the warehouse. Tom came too, his expression troubled.
Once inside, Isabella turned to face Dante. "Tell me the truth. All of it. Who are you really?"
Dante was quiet for a long moment. Five years of secrets, five years of hiding. But she deserved to know.
"I am Dante Blackwell, third son of House Blackwell," he said quietly. "I was also the Dragon Commander, the youngest general in the kingdom's history. My brothers framed me for treason to remove me from succession. I accepted exile to protect my dying mother." He met Isabella's eyes. "Everything else they say about me is a lie."
Isabella opened her mouth to respond, but Tom suddenly grabbed Dante's arm. "We have a problem. Look outside." Through the window, they could see the town guard approaching—twenty armed men. Behind them rode Marcus Thorne, his face twisted with rage.