Love X Betrayal

Rain fell, turning New York's streets into shiny glistening paths. The night echoed with water hitting pavement, but inside the smooth dark SUV that moved through the city , everything was quiet. Outside, darkness brought chaos, but inside, a dangerous, stifling stillness took over.

Dante Salvatore, the mob boss reclined in the backseat, his gaze fixed on the leather-bound folder he held. His face remained blank showing no emotion. He ran a business built on violence and intimidation, and tonight was business as usual. His eyes dark and keen, scanned the details of another act of disloyalty. Someone had chosen to betray him. In his world such actions weren't pardoned-they were wiped out.

"Boss, we're there," Vince, his most reliable second-in-command and chauffeur, said from the front seat, his tone quiet but firm.

Dante held back his answer. He spoke little. Each choice, look, and move he made held significance, and quiet often proved his strongest weapon. He shut the folder with a faint thump and peered out the window. The downpour smeared the city's glow into a band of gold and red, like the blood that would soon coat his hands.

"Ensure it's spotless," Dante said at last, his tone as icy as the rain hitting the glass. Vince nodded once. Spotless was Dante's only method. No onlookers, no slip-ups.

The car stopped at an old deserted warehouse on the city's edge. The structure stood as a forgotten remnant now overtaken by corrosion and darkness, an ideal spot for Dante's line of work. As the vehicle halted, Dante fixed the cuffs of his custom-made black suit. The outfit, like every aspect of his appearance, was exact, flawless, and basic. Yet underneath the sleek exterior was a man shaped by brutality, a man who controlled with unyielding force.

Without an invitation, Dante walked out into the storm. Cold rain struck his face, but he didn't react. Nothing affected him. He was invincible. Vince followed close behind, alert and quiet.

Inside the warehouse, oil and rot stunk up the thick air. One dim light blinked from the ceiling making long spooky shadows across the room. A man sat tied to a chair in the middle, his face bloody and puffy from earlier punches. He looked up as Dante came closer, fear flashing in his eyes.

"Mr. Salvatore... please... I didn't mean to-"

"Shut up," Dante said. His voice was calm but had a deadly edge. He didn't care about begging. The man had robbed him-cash narcotics, it didn't matter. What counted was that he had broken the one rule Dante enforced without mercy: loyalty.

Dante moved , with purpose. Each step rang out in the huge empty warehouse. He paused in front of the man standing over him. His eyes were cold and showed no pity.

"You thought you could steal from me and vanish?" Dante spoke almost in a whisper, but it made the man tremble.

"I-I didn't... I swear, it was a mistake... I'll pay it back, please just-"

Dante lifted his hand making the man stop talking. "You will pay. With your life."

Dante reached for the gun at his side without another word. The metal felt cold and familiar in his hand, like part of him. He pointed it at the man's head, his finger touching the trigger when the warehouse door opened with a creak.

Dante's gut feeling took over at once. He whirled pistol , ready to shoot any intruder. His gaze focused as someone entered the warehouse soaked from the downpour, stepping and.

It was a woman.

She looked young perhaps 20 to 25, her outfit drenched and sticking to her thin body. Her black hair hung in wet knots around her face, and her eyes-big and alarmed-locked with Dante's showing both dread and bewilderment. She resembled a startled animal facing oncoming traffic, out of her element in this realm of shadows and brutality.

"Who the hell are you?" Dante's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

The woman blinked shocked at the sight of Dante holding a gun and a man tied up and beaten in front of him. She tried to speak, but no sound came out at first. Then, she found her voice.

"I-I'm sorry... I didn't mean to interrupt. I... I got lost," she said, her voice shaking.

Dante's eyes darkened. He suspected foul play. Nobody wandered here by accident. This area of the city lay abandoned, a place you discovered if you sought trouble. He stepped closer, gun in hand, eyes fixed on her.

"Lost?" Dante echoed, his voice oozing skepticism. "In New York's most dangerous neighborhood, during a storm, at a warehouse that should be empty? Try again."

The woman's hands trembled as she wrapped her coat tighter, though it failed to conceal her drenched state. Her mouth opened, but words failed her.

"I mean it," she spoke . "I have no idea how I ended up here. I just... I was walking, and then..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but Dante didn't believe her. She was either not telling the truth or stupid. Regardless, she had stepped into a situation she wouldn't leave.

Before Dante could ask more questions, the man in the chair saw his opportunity. With a desperate noise, he jumped at Dante crashing into him in a final attempt to get away.

Dante acted on impulse. He turned, seized the man's neck, and threw him back into the chair. The impact shook the whole room. In one smooth move, he put his gun to the man's head.

"Your last mistake," Dante said in a low voice.

The gun fired, a loud noise in the small space. The man's body fell forward, dead, with blood forming a pool under him. The sound bounced off the walls mixing with the steady beat of rain outside.

The woman took a sharp breath. Her eyes grew big with fear as she saw what happened. She stepped back, her hands over her mouth, her face white as paper.

Dante faced her again, his gaze icy and unyielding. "You made a mistake coming here."