Chapter 298: I Don’t Need A Gun

"Then...."

"But I’m more of those things," Dimitri cut him off. "I have more territory. More resources. Better people. And most importantly, I understood something about this world that you apparently still don’t grasp: sometimes being equal in strength isn’t enough. Sometimes you have to understand that the other man is simply more powerful, and you have to accept that."

"I accept nothing," Dante said, his voice dropping to something lethal. "I accept that my brother is dead because you deemed it convenient. I accept that you waltz through my city like you own it. I accept that people bow to you because you’ve built the appearance of inevitability."

He leaned back in his chair, studying Dimitri with an intensity that suggested he was making a calculation.

"But I also accept this," Dante continued. "That you came here alone. That you walked into my warehouse with no backup, no contingencies. That you felt so confident in your superiority that you didn’t even bring a gun."

"I don’t need a gun," Dimitri said.

"Everyone needs a gun," Dante said. And then his expression shifted. Hardened. "But that’s not even the point. The point is that I’ve been doing something you didn’t anticipate. Something that’s going to change everything."

Dimitri waited.

"Your ex-fiancée," Dante said, and his smile turned vicious. "Isabella. Beautiful girl. Obsessed with you for years, right? Waiting for you to come back to her. Well, she didn’t have to wait anymore."

Dimitri felt absolutely nothing. Registered the words. Understood what Dante was saying. And felt his heart continue beating at exactly the same rate.

"I found her in Rome," Dante continued, clearly enjoying this moment. "Sad. Lonely. Still thinking about you. Still hoping you’d change your mind. And I showed her that there was someone else who could appreciate her. Someone who could give her what you wouldn’t."

"Isabella," Dimitri said, his voice empty of affect.

"I’ve been fucking her for six months," Dante said, leaning forward with intensity. "Every single day. She moans your name sometimes, you know. Even when I’m inside her. Even when she’s coming on my cock, she’s thinking about you. And you know what? I love it. Because it means I’m taking something from you. It means I’m winning in a way that matters."

Dimitri picked up the whiskey and drank it in one swallow.

Then he set the glass down.

"Is that all?" he asked.

Dante’s face went white.

"What?"

"Is that all you have?" Dimitri asked, his voice absolutely calm. "Because if it is, you’ve wasted a lot of time. Isabella is nothing to me. She was a girl I was going to marry before I realized she was weak. Before I realized she would never be strong enough to stand beside me. She’s in Rome, Dante. She’s thousands of miles away. And I don’t care what you do with her or to her."

"You don’t...."

"She doesn’t matter," Dimitri cut him off. "You could torture her. You could kill her. You could parade her through the streets on a leash. And I would feel nothing. Because she was never important to me."

Dante’s face was going red now, the veins in his neck standing out.

"You’re lying," he said.

"I’m not," Dimitri said. "You know how I know? Because I’m telling you the truth. If I was going to lie, I would tell you that I’m devastated. That you’ve hurt me. That Isabella matters. I would tell you what you want to hear. But I don’t lie to people I’m about to kill. So let me be clear: Isabella is yours. Keep her. Fuck her every day for the rest of your life. I don’t care. In fact, you’re doing me a favor....you’re keeping her occupied so she can’t bother me."

Dante stood up.

"You smug son of a bitch," he said, his voice shaking with rage. "You think you can just dismiss me? Dismiss what I’ve done?"

"I’m not dismissing anything," Dimitri said. "I’m telling you that you wasted six months and countless resources on something that was never going to matter. You tried to wound me with Isabella, and instead you’ve just revealed that you don’t understand what actually matters to me."

"What matters to you?" Dante demanded.

"Eve," Dimitri said, and his voice changed. Became colder. More lethal. "That’s my woman. That’s who I care about. That’s the person I would burn Rome to the ground to protect. You could take every territory I own, you could steal every resource, you could seduce every woman I’ve ever fucked. But if you ever...if you EVER....go near Eve, I will kill you so slowly that you’ll beg me for death."

Dante’s hand moved toward his jacket.

"That’s your last warning," Dimitri said.

"Fuck your warnings," Dante snarled.

He drew his gun.

Dimitri moved like liquid death.

He crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, too fast for Dante to track, and his hand closed around Dante’s wrist. The gun fired once, the shot going wild, the bullet hitting the concrete ceiling with a shower of dust and chips.

Then Dimitri twisted.

The sound of bone breaking was wet and final. Dante screamed, and the gun fell from his nerveless fingers.

But Dante didn’t try to run. Instead, he came at Dimitri with his other fist, driving a haymaker toward Dimitri’s face. Dimitri slipped it, felt the wind of the punch pass inches from his cheek, and came back with an elbow that caught Dante in the ribs with enough force to crack bone.

Dante went down to one knee, gasping.

"Last chance," Dimitri said. "Stand down."

Dante looked up, blood streaming from his nose, his eyes wild with adrenaline and fury.

"Fuck you," he said.

Then he screamed something in Italian, and the warehouse exploded into violence.

His men emerged from the shadows. Twelve of them, armed with assault rifles, handguns, tactical gear. They opened fire immediately, a coordinated assault designed to overwhelm through superior firepower.

Dimitri grabbed Dante and used him as a shield, moving fast, staying mobile. A burst of gunfire tore through the air where Dimitri had been standing a moment before.

"Stand down!" Dante was screaming. "Stand down! I want him alive!"

But Dimitri wasn’t going to give Dante that option.

He shoved Dante behind the overturned table and moved into the kill zone, his hand finding the fallen gun, and suddenly he was no longer the man having a conversation. He was something else entirely. Something primal. Something deadly.

The first two men who tried to advance died with bullets in their throats. Dimitri didn’t slow down, didn’t take cover, just moved forward in a straight line, gun tracking targets with mechanical precision.

Shot. Shot. Shot.

A man went down. Then another. Then a third.