The Godfathers

EMILIO VALENCIA

"You've got guts showing up here, Valencia. After what your men did to Luca... you're lucky I didn't shoot you on sight." Dante's voice echoed in the underground room.

Dante sat at the center of the underground room, surrounded by his men. He didn't move. Didn't have to. The power in the room was already his.

"You called. I came. That doesn't mean I'm here to obey." Emilio kept walking, his stomach tight, but his face stayed calm, hiding the turmoil inside. Internally, he could feel curiosity and a mix of irritation. He had heard of Dante. The man was a legend, and from what he'd gathered, And Luca? Dante's nephew? A brat with too much mouth and not enough sense. Dante smirked, swirling the drink in his glass. "I thought you'd be too proud to show up." Emilio pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, easy. "And I thought you'd be bold enough to talk to me yourself instead of sending a messenger." The room went quiet. Hands hovered near weapons, waiting. Dante chuckled. "Careful, kid. Pride can get you killed in this business." Emilio met his gaze without hesitation, his chin lifted in quiet challenge. Dante exhaled slowly, then-with a lazy wave of his fingers-spoke. "Leave us." It was a simple command, but no one moved. Tension gripped the room. The standoff dragged on, both sides sizing each other up. Emilio's men didn't flinch, their fingers brushing the cold steel of their guns. Dante's men exchanged glances, unsure whether to follow their boss's lead. And Dante-he just smiled, slow and knowing. "I said leave," he repeated, voice smooth but edged with a dangerous calm. "All of you." A pause. Then, one by one, the men obeyed. Reluctantly, Emilio's men gave him a final glance, waiting for a signal. He gave them the smallest nod stand down, for now-before they turned and exited. Dante's men did the same, though one or two lingered for a second longer than necessary, their eyes on Emilio like they were memorizing his face. Then, the door was shut. There was silence. It was just the two of them. Dante tilted his head, studying Emilio like he was something to be unwrapped, to be figured out. "Brave," he mused. "Or reckless." Emilio didn't flinch. "Depends on how this conversation ends." Dante chuckled, low and dark. "Then let's not waste time." He stepped forward. So did Emilio. The underground room was silent now, For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, with a slow, measured movement, Emilio pulled forward the chair he sat on. The sound of wood was heard against the floor. He tilted his chin slightly, his eyes locked onto Dante's. A challenge. Dante's lips curled-just barely. It wasn't a smirk, not yet, but something close. He didn't move fast. Instead, he took his time, letting the moment just long enough to make it clear-he wasn't the kind of man who obeyed commands. Dante leaned back, He stretched his arms along the chair's armrests, exuding a quiet, effortless dominance. "You like giving orders, don't you?" Dante mused, voice smooth as velvet. Emilio didn't blink. "Only when I know they'll be followed." A low chuckle. "Interesting." The air between them was thick now-something unseen pressing down, coiling tight. Neither of them moved. Neither of them looked away. Dante really looked like a man who owned everything he touched-including the air Emilio was breathing. The lighting didn't soften his face. His tanned face and skin were proof of life always in the open fields... Dressed in a sleek black suit, he looked polished. Even the scar made him a man people do not call beautiful but handsome. And in that underground room, he looked terrifying. Dante's gaze moved over him once, slow and assessing like a predator deciding whether to toy with its prey or devour it whole. And just like that, Emilio knew-Dante had already sized him up. He hated it. Hated the way his pulse betrayed him, the way his body tensed under that gaze. Hated that, for the first time in his life, he felt young in the presence of another man. But he wouldn't let Dante see it. Emilio squared his shoulders "I assume you already know why I'm here." Dante smirked, and it was devastating. Not because it was charming, but because it knew it was. "I know exactly why you're here, Valencia." His voice was smooth, unhurried. "The question is... do you?" Emilio held Dante's gaze, steady and unflinching. "I didn't come here to apologize," Emilio said, voice calm but firm. Dante's smirk didn't waver, but there was something sharper in his eyes now. "Is that so?" "It is." Emilio leaned forward slightly. "We both know Luca was the one who walked into Rossi's place, throwing his weight around. The bar owner owed a debt, and Luca decided to settle it by breaking everything in the bar. Rossi reacted. As any man protecting his own would." Dante exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the table. "And?" "And this-" Emilio gestured vaguely around them, "is a waste of time. Rossi and Luca are both valuable to us. This isn't necessary. A reconciliation between the two men or an apology from Luca makes more sense than escalating a fight that shouldn't have started in the first place." Dante studied him for a moment, his silence heavier than words. Then, he chuckled-a deep, rich sound that sent something cold down Emilio's spine. "You think you can walk in here and tell me how to handle my men?" "I think you're smart enough to see reason," Emilio countered smoothly. Dante's smirk didn't fade, but the air in the room shifted. A subtle shift, but one Emilio didn't miss. "Interesting," Dante murmured. "You don't just want to survive in this world. You want to play in it." Emilio didn't rise to the bait. He didn't let pride cloud his judgment or allow himself to be drawn into a battle of egos. That wasn't why he was here. Instead, he met Dante's gaze with quiet, unwavering resolve. "I don't care about playing," he said, voice steady. Dante studied him, but there was something deeper in his gaze now. Interest. Curiosity. Maybe even a hint of approval. Emilio didn't break eye contact. "Why not make it simple, Valencia." His voice was smooth, almost bored. "Apologize and we walk away from this. No war, no bloodshed. Just a handshake, and we move forward." He tilted his head slightly, watching Emilio as if he already knew the answer. "Unless, of course, your pride is worth more than your men's lives." Emilio wasn't a fool. He knew what this was, Dante testing him, waiting to see if he would fold if he would kneel just to keep his people safe. It would be easy. Just one word. A concession that would make all of this disappear. But as he looked at Dante, proud, composed, and already convinced he had won, Emilio felt something settle deep in his chest. He wouldn't do it. An apology wasn't just a word-it was giving in. And if he gave in now, he'd never stand tall again. His jaw tightened, but his voice stayed steady. The room felt smaller. His men were waiting on him. Refuse, and Dante would make good on his threat. He knew how ruthless Falcone could be. But apologize? Would it end things, or make it worse? Emilio exhaled, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. One word would settle it. Could he say it? He didn't know.