The silence following the collapse was more violent than the explosion itself. A thick, choking shroud of pulverized concrete and asbestos hung in the air, turning the morning into a grey purgatory. Above the ruins, the rain hissed as it hit the heated wreckage.
Underneath the twisted skeleton of the Cessna's wing, a hand twitched.
Dante's eyes snapped open. For a long moment, there was no sound only the high-pitched, steady ring of shell-shock. His vision was a blur of crimson and grey. He tried to move, and a jagged spike of pain shot through his ribs, stealing his breath. He was pinned under a section of the hangar's fuselage, his legs buried in rubble.
"Sienna..." he croaked, the name tasting like copper and grit.
He coughed, spitting out a thick glob of blood and dust. Memory rushed back the betrayal, the cold look in her eyes, the way she had handed him over like a piece of meat. The pain in his chest had nothing to do with his broken ribs.
From somewhere above him, he heard the crunch of boots on glass.
"Search the perimeter!" a voice barked. It was Lorenzo's lead captain, Gallo. He had survived. "Find the body. I don't care if you have to dig through every inch of this shit. If I don't see a head, he isn't dead."
Dante went perfectly still, suppressing a groan. He reached into the rubble beside his hip. His fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. His backup blade. It wasn't a gun, but it was enough.
"Over here!" a guard shouted. "I see a jacket! Under the wing!"
Dante closed his eyes, slowing his breathing. He played the part of a corpse. He felt the weight of the rubble shift as the guard began to clear the debris over his torso.
"Found him," the guard muttered. Dante felt a hand grab his shoulder to roll him over. "Hey, Gallo! He's a mess. Looks like he took half the"
Dante's eyes flew open, glowing with a primal, predatory hate.
Before the guard could scream, Dante's hand shot out like a viper. The serrated blade sank deep into the man's throat. Dante didn't pull it out; he twisted it, leaning into the kill with a guttural growl. He used the guard's momentum to pull himself up, his muscles screaming in protest.
He snatched the guard's sidearm from its holster just as Gallo rounded the pile of debris.
"Moretti!" Gallo yelled, raising his rifle.
**Pop. Pop.**
Dante fired twice. The first shot hit Gallo in the knee, dropping him; the second shattered his jaw. Dante dragged himself out of the hole, his left leg dragging behind him, blood soaking his trousers. He limped toward the groaning captain.
Dante knelt on Gallo's chest, the weight making the man choke on his own blood. Dante leaned in, his face a mask of gore and dust.
"Where are they?" Dante whispered, the suppressed fury in his voice more terrifying than a scream.
"G-gone..." Gallo wheezed, blood bubbling from his ruined mouth. "They took the SUV... heading for the estate. Lorenzo... he's going to announce the... the merger... tonight."
"And Sienna?" Dante pressed the barrel of the gun into Gallo's forehead. "Did she smile when the building fell?"
Gallo gave a wet, sickening laugh. "She didn't... she didn't even look back, Dante. She said... 'Make sure you burn the remains.'"
Dante's grip on the gun tightened until his knuckles turned white. A cold, absolute stillness settled over him. The man who had loved Sienna Cavallo had died in the explosion. What was left was something far more dangerous.
"Tell the devil I'm coming for my throne," Dante said.
**Bang.**
He stood up, swaying on his feet. He looked out over the docks. The rain was washing the dust away, revealing the total devastation. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Moretti ring the one he had taken back from the dummy file Sienna had planted. He stared at it for a second before crushing it into the dirt with his heel.
He found a black SUV idling near the gate, the driver's door open, the occupant likely fled when the charges went off. Dante climbed in, gritting his teeth as he shifted into gear. He looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He was a ghost, a nightmare in a tailored suit.
He didn't head for a hospital. He didn't head for the border.
He drove toward the city.
"You wanted a war, Sienna," he muttered, his voice a low, jagged promise as he floor the accelerator. "I'm going to give you a massacre."
The book doesn't end with a funeral. It ends with a shadow moving through the rain-slicked streets of Milan, heading toward a celebration that is about to turn into a wake.
End of Book One.