CHAPTER 73: ATTACK ON LORENZO

"Don’t you dare hurt her!!" he snarled. In one swift motion, he seized his father by the collar, yanking him close, his eyes blazing with a deadly promise.

Mr. De Rossi’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t expected his son to snap so violently in front of an audience. Yes, he knew Dante feared no one, not even his own father. Respect had long been absent in their relationship, replaced by mutual disdain and cold necessity. But this very public act of defiance over a woman he found intolerable.

Alisha.

It was obvious now. She had him wrapped around her delicate little fingers. The thought soured his stomach.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. A number of guests turned their heads, faces twisted with shock and intrigue. This was supposed to be a charity gala, an evening of shallow smiles and empty donations. Instead, they were witnessing a near-brawl between father and son.

Mr. De Rossi forced a laugh, though it came out strained. He reached for his son’s wrist, his voice tight as Dante’s grip dug into his throat. "Let me go. People are watching," he hissed through gritted teeth.

But Dante didn’t move. His own body trembled with the force of his rage. He was as startled as anyone else by his outburst, but his father’s words had cut too deep. It wasn’t just an idle threat. He knew his father. Knew the way he operated. His promises of violence were never hollow. If Mr. De Rossi said he would strangle Alisha, Dante had no doubt he would try.

That truth had triggered something uncontrollable inside him.

At last, with his jaw clenched and teeth grinding, Dante shoved him back and released him. His chest rose and fell heavily as he took two steps backward, dragging a hand across his face in frustration.

Mr. De Rossi smoothed his suit collar, forcing another laugh as he turned toward the onlookers. "Relax, everyone. My son and I were only having a little... discussion. Things got a little heated, but that’s all."

The crowd stared for a tense moment before, slowly, they returned to their meaningless conversations. The music swelled again, filling the air like a weak attempt to erase what they had just seen.

The moment the guests’ attention shifted, Mr. De Rossi’s smile vanished. His face hardened, his eyes narrowing into cold slits as he turned to Dante.

"That woman has to go," he said flatly, his voice dropping into that authoritative register Dante had loathed since childhood. "You’ve never acted like this in public. You almost strangled me in front of everyone. Over her? This wasn’t what I taught you."

Of course it wasn’t. His father had drilled into him from the beginning; never get attached, never grow soft, never allow another person to become a weakness. People were pawns, disposable tools to be used and discarded. That was the law of his father’s world.

And for most of his life, Dante had abided by it.

Until Alisha.

But somewhere along the line, the rules had changed. He couldn’t even pinpoint when. All he knew was that the thought of his father harming her ignited something in him he couldn’t control.

"What I said still stands," Dante growled, his voice low and firm. "Stay away from Alisha. If you lay a hand on her—if you even try—I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head."

His father’s expression soured instantly, the threat lingering in the air like smoke. For once, Mr. De Rossi had no quick retort.

Before either of them could speak again, a mocking voice rang out from across the room.

"Well, well, what do we have here? The picture-perfect father and son, fighting in public? My, how the mighty have fallen. I thought the two of you prided yourselves on being everyone’s shining example of harmony."

The familiar voice carried a tone of smug satisfaction, dripping with amusement.

Dante turned and saw him: Jaime Lorenzo. His father’s most persistent political rival. The old man looked as sharp as ever in his tailored suit, his smile thin, his eyes glittering with the satisfaction of catching his opponents off guard.

Dante hadn’t seen him since their tense meeting at Unity Tower, when the man had tried to offer him advice. Clearly, Jaime was not a man who backed down easily. If he had been, he would have stepped away from the election long ago.

"Jaime," Mr. De Rossi greeted with a polished smile, slipping his public mask back on with practiced ease. "Long time no see."

The two men shook hands, their facades flawless, as if they hadn’t been clawing at each other behind closed doors for years.

Dante, however, had no interest in listening to their hollow exchange. Their rivalry was nothing but poison disguised as politeness. He felt sick enough being here already.

Without a word, he turned and made his way to the back of the building, where access was restricted to only a select few.

The night air hit him like a relief. It was cooler out here, the distant hum of the city muffled beneath the sound of cicadas. The moon spilled pale light across the grounds, mingling with the harsh glow of security lamps along the fences.

There, parked in the shadows, was a large truck. Several armed men worked quickly, offloading heavy crates onto the ground. Each crate thudded as it landed, and Dante didn’t need to open them to know what they carried. Weapons.

"How’s it going?" Dante asked, striding toward them.

Rico looked up from his checklist. "So far, so good. Still confirming everything, but it looks like the shipment is complete."

He paused, squinting at Dante’s face. "What happened to you? You look like you just chewed through someone’s throat."

Dante rubbed his face again, trying to scrub away the frustration clinging to him like oil. His father’s words still echoed in his head, festering. His heart hadn’t settled since.

He had spent years tied to that man’s leash, carrying out missions, becoming his private weapon, his private assassin. All because of her. His father knew exactly how to control him, dangling her safety over his head like a blade. Every threat had been real, and every time Dante had obeyed, it was to shield her from the man who was supposed to protect her.

But this time was different. His father had gone too far.

"It’s nothing," Dante muttered at last. His gaze shifted to the crates, his hand tapping one firmly. "Make sure at least one gets used for the bait. I want the group that keeps destroying our shipments to take it."

Rico nodded. "Already on it. Don’t worry, they won’t know we set them up. By the way..." He hesitated, then smirked faintly. "You’re thinking about how to kill Ryan, aren’t you?"

Dante raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "If only I could stay home and plan that in peace."

Rico chuckled under his breath, but wisely dropped the subject.

The men finished unloading the last of the crates, stacking them neatly in the shadows. Just as Dante began to relax into the stillness of the night, the sharp crack of a gunshot split the air.

It came from inside the main building.

Dante’s head snapped toward the sound. Then the screams followed—high-pitched, panicked, flooding the night.

Without hesitation, he sprinted back into the hall.

Chaos met him at the door. Guests shrieked and stumbled over one another, their glittering gowns and tailored suits a blur of color as they scrambled to escape. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air, sharp and acrid.

Then he saw it.

Blood smeared across the polished floor. Jaime Lorenzo lay crumpled beside it, his suit stained crimson. His chest barely rose, the light in his eyes dimming.

Security guards swarmed around him, lifting his body quickly, carrying him away before the guests could see too much.

Dante’s gaze swept the room, searching. And then he found him.

His father.

Calm as ever, the older man was making his way upstairs, his stride purposeful, almost leisurely. When he reached the landing, he turned. Their eyes met across the room.

Dante’s glare was molten fire.

And his father... smiled.