Chapter 5 - The Ledger of Sins
The guest suite assigned to Arya and Ethan looked more like a luxury hotel penthouse than a room in a syndicate boss's stronghold. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the turbulent black ocean, and a king-sized bed covered in silk sheets dominated the center of the room. A tray of warm food and hot chocolate sat untouched on the mahogany table.
Ethan had finally fallen asleep, curled up on the oversized sofa with his stuffed rabbit clutched safely in his arms. The quiet rhythm of his breathing was the only anchor keeping Arya sane in a world that had completely upended itself in less than twenty-four hours.
She stood by the window, staring out at the crashing waves, when a soft knock echoed at the heavy oak door.
Arya turned, instinctively reaching for the pocket where her revolver used to be—only to remember Dante’s security detail had politely confiscated it at the entrance.
She opened the door. Dante stood in the hallway, wearing a dark silk robe over a crisp black shirt, looking every bit the ruthless syndicate patriarch he was reputed to be. Behind him stood a massive, scarred man holding a thick leather-bound folder.
“I hope the boy is resting,” Dante said softly, keeping his distance from the threshold out of respect for her space.
“He’s sleeping,” Arya said, crossing her arms defensively. “What do you want, Mr. Moretti?”
Dante motioned to the scarred man behind him, who stepped forward and placed the heavy leather folder on the small table near the door.
“I want you to understand that I don't act on impulse, Miss Bennett,” Dante said, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind him. He gestured to the folder. “That contains everything on Derek Wells. His gambling debts, his tax fraud, his previous domestic assault charges that local precinct chiefs conveniently buried under the rug for five hundred dollars a pop.”
Arya stared at the folder, her breath catching. “Why are you giving me this?”
“I’m not giving it to you. I’m showing you what a real weapon looks like,” Dante replied calmly. He walked over to the window, gazing out at the dark ocean. “You tried to fight him with a rusted thirty-eight revolver and minimum wage. That is admirable, but it is suicide. Men like Derek do not fear the law, because the law is slow and bureaucratic. Men like Derek only fear total, irreversible erasure.”
“Erasure?” Arya whispered.
“By morning, his bank accounts will be frozen, his fraudulent loans called in by creditors who do not negotiate, and his name dragged through a public scandal that will ensure he can never step foot in this state again,” Dante said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “He will leave the city with nothing. Not a car, not a dollar, not even the clothes on his back.”
Arya walked slowly toward the table, her fingers tracing the edge of the leather folder. A heavy, profound sense of relief washed over her, mixing with a strange, dizzying awe for the man standing across the room.
“And what is the cost of all this, Dante?” she asked, using his first name for the first time. “You don't do this for charity. Everyone in the city knows the Moretti name.”
Dante turned slowly, his slate-gray eyes softening just a fraction as he looked at her.
May you like
“The cost,” Dante said quietly, stepping closer until only a few feet separated them, “is that you stop running. You and the boy stay here. Under my roof. Under my protection. Permanently.”
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