DANTE PERSPECTIVE
"I'M LATE!"
Huff... huff... I slammed the conference room doors open, my lungs burning. I was late again. It was becoming a habit, but one I couldn't help. Every morning follows the same frantic routine: making breakfast for my third teen year old sister and dropping her off at school.
If anyone asks where are your parents to do that, I just tell them our parents walked out on both of us on day one. That's the story I tell her, too. I'm not ready to share the real truth just yet.
My name is Dante, or at least that's the name I go by now. It wasn't always Dante.
I was recruited for my unique ability to blend in, to disappear into the background, and to reappear as someone else. The mission was simple: infiltrate Santo's inner circle. Santo, the head of the most powerful mafia in the city, a ghost, untouchable.
My ticket in was a fabricated history, a reputation as a ruthless enforcer, a shadow with a past as dark as his own. I spent years building that persona, fighting in underground rings, making connections in the criminal world, all leading to this moment.
When Santo put out the call for a new bodyguard, someone he could trust, I made sure my name was the first on his list. Now, as I head to meet him I am kind of nervous me standing beside him, the weight of my mission is heavy. One wrong move, one slip up, and everything I've worked for will be for nothing. The thought while I was heading always appeared and reappeared over and over again till I finally gave up and went to sleep since the drive was sadly 4 hrs.
Once I arrived the mansion loomed over the landscape like a stone beast, its windows staring back at me like hollow eyes. I didn't flinch when the guards stepped into my path I let them scan me, their eyes lingering on my face as they checked my credentials against their tablets. A curt nod, and the heavy gates groaned open. Inside, the hallway was a tunnel of shadows. The rhythmic *thud thud thud* of my boots on the polished floor sounded like a countdown, echoing off the high ceilings. I finally came to a halt before a set of towering oak doors the only thing standing between me and the man I was born to betray.
The heavy oak doors groaned as they settled back into their frames, the sound echoing in a room that was far too quiet for comfort. Every head at the long mahogany table turned. A dozen pairs of eyes cold, calculating, and lethal settled on me.
I didn't lower my gaze. In this world, an apology is a confession of weakness
At the head of the table sat Santo. He didn't look like a monster; he looked like a statesman in a three-thousand-dollar suit, his black hair covering most spacing of his face. He watched me with a terrifying stillness, his fingers steepled under his chin.
"You're late, Dante," Santo said, his voice a low, gravelly silk.
"The bridge was backed up," I lied, my voice steady despite the adrenaline still spiked from the morning's school run. "I don't like being rushed when I'm checking for tails. Prudence takes time."
It was a gamble framing my tardiness as professional paranoia but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. He valued caution over punctuality. He gestured to the empty space behind his chair. That was my spot. The shadow's shadow. I moved toward the head of the table, the weight of his gaze following me like a physical touch. As I took my position directly behind him, the air changed. From this close, I could smell him expensive sandalwood, cold rain, and the faint, metallic scent of gun oil. It was a dizzying contrast to the scent of the cheap strawberry jam still lingering on my own skin.
"The bridge, you say?" Santo murmured, not even turning his head. His voice was so low it was meant only for my ears. "Next time, take the tunnel. I don't pay for excuses, Dante. I pay for presence."
"Duly noted," I replied, my tone clipped and professional. I kept my eyes on the room, scanning the faces of the underbosses, but my focus was entirely on the man sitting inches from me.
The meeting was a grueling display of power. Santo didn't raise his voice once, yet the room felt like it was under a vacuum. He dismantled a territory dispute with three words and dismissed a multi-million dollar loss with a flick of his wrist. He was calculated, brilliant, and as my handlers had warned entirely devoid of a heartbeat.
But then, the air shifted.
Santo leaned back, his chair creaking slightly. For a split second, his shoulder brushed against my leg. I froze, my breath hitching in my throat. It was a small, accidental contact, but through the fabric of my tactical pants, the heat of him felt like a brand. I expected him to move away, but he didn't. He stayed there, leaning into my space as he looked over a ledger.
"You're tense," he whispered, his eyes still fixed on the men across the table. "Relax, Dante. If I wanted you dead for being late, you wouldn't have made it past the foyer."
"I'm not tense," I lied, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I'm alert."
He let out a short, huffed breath not quite a laugh, but the closest thing to it I'd heard. "Good. Stay that way. I'm heading to the docks tonight to oversee the handover myself.
"You'll be driving."
My mind raced. The docks meant a high risk transition, a perfect time for the agency to move in or a perfect time for me to get caught in the crossfire. But more importantly, the docks at midnight meant I'd miss the 'goodnight' text I always sent my sister.
The meeting dragged on for another hour. By the time the underbosses filed out, the sun was beginning to dip, casting long, orange shadows across the mahogany. Santo didn't stand up immediately. He stayed seated, staring at the closed doors, before finally turning his chair to face me.
Up close, without the audience of his subordinates, the mask of the "Don" seemed to slip just a fraction. He looked tired. He looked at me—really looked at mein a way that made me feel like he was trying to read the secrets written in my marrow.
"Your history says you're a loner," Santo said, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he tilted his head. "No family. No ties. No reason to look at the clock every twenty minutes. So tell me, Dante... what's really making you so restless?"I held his gaze, my pulse thundering. He was oblivious to my badge, but he was far too observant of my soul.
"I just don't like keeping people waiting," I said, the double meaning tasting like ash in my mouth.
He stood up then, stepping into my personal bubble. He was slightly taller than me, enough that I had to tilt my head back. He reached out, his hand hovering near my neck. For a terrifying second, I thought he'd found the wire. Instead, his thumb brushed a stray crumb a remnant of my sister's breakfast off the collar of my black shirt.His touch was lingering, warmer than a man like him had any right to be.
"See that you don't," he murmured, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Go prep the car. We leave in ten."
He walked past me, leaving the scent of sandalwood and a burning tension in his wake. I stood there, alone in the silent conference room, my hand trembling just slightly.
I was supposed to be the one hunting him, but as I watched him walk away, it felt like I was the one walking into a trap one I wasn't sure I wanted to escape.