Chapter 341: The Anonymous Caller

POV: DANTE

Rome looked exactly the same as when he’d left it.

That was the strange part. Dante had almost died in a warehouse in Jersey City. Had lost thirty-seven men. Had a bullet lodged near his spine that meant he couldn’t walk without help. And Rome just... continued. Traffic on the Tiber bridges. Tourists at the Trevi Fountain. Life going on like nothing had happened.

Luca wheeled him through the private entrance of his estate, past the household staff who bowed their heads and didn’t ask questions.

"Everything’s exactly as you left it," Luca said, pushing the wheelchair down the marble hallway. "Operations never stopped. The drug routes are running. The protection money is coming in. Nobody in Rome knows what happened in New York." 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

"Good," Dante said. His voice was tight with pain, but the news settled something in his chest. He hadn’t lost his empire. He’d lost men, lost blood, lost pride. But the business, the actual foundation of his power...was untouched.

"The families?" Dante asked.

"Quiet," Luca said. "No one’s making moves. No one’s testing your territory. As far as Rome is concerned, you’ve just been away on business."

That was one advantage of being a Romano. His name still meant something here, even wounded.

They reached his study, and Luca helped him transfer from the wheelchair to the leather chair behind his desk. The movement sent fire shooting up Dante’s spine, and he gritted his teeth until it passed.

"The doctor will be here in an hour," Luca said. "Dr. Fabrizio. He’s the best spinal specialist in Italy. If anyone can help you walk again, it’s him."

"He better be worth what I’m paying him," Dante muttered.

Dr. Fabrizio arrived precisely on time. He was an older man, silver-haired, with the calm confidence of someone who’d spent decades looking at the worst injuries the human body could survive.

He examined Dante for nearly an hour. Ran through reflex tests, sensation checks, reviewed the imaging that had been sent ahead from the American doctor who’d treated him in Brooklyn.

When he finished, he sat down across from Dante’s desk, his expression carefully neutral.

"The bullet damaged the nerve bundle near your L4 vertebra," Dr. Fabrizio said. "It’s not severed completely, which is good news. But the swelling and scar tissue are going to take time to resolve."

"How much time?" Dante asked.

"Months," Dr. Fabrizio said. "With aggressive physical therapy, you might regain partial mobility in three to four months. Full recovery, if it happens at all...could take longer."

"That’s the same thing the doctor in New York said," Dante said, his voice hard.

"Because it’s the truth," Dr. Fabrizio replied. "I understand you’re a man who’s used to controlling outcomes, Mr. Romano. But the human spine doesn’t respond to money or intimidation. It responds to time and careful treatment. I can give you the best care available. I cannot give you a shortcut."

Dante stared at him for a long moment, then nodded once.

"Set up the therapy schedule," he said. "I want to start immediately."

"I’ll have my team here tomorrow morning," Dr. Fabrizio said, and left.

Dante sat alone in his study after that, staring out the window at the gardens below. Months. Maybe longer. Meanwhile, Dimitri Valentino was walking around New York, untouched, building his empire, holding the woman he loved.

The unfairness of it burned through Dante like acid.

Luca brought dinner to the study that evening, Dante hadn’t wanted to sit at the formal dining table in a wheelchair, hadn’t wanted the staff to see him diminished like this.

"You should eat," Luca said, setting the tray down. "You barely touched breakfast."

"I’m not hungry," Dante said.

Luca studied him for a moment. "You’re thinking about him again."

"I’m always thinking about him," Dante said. "Every hour I sit in this chair is an hour he gets to live free. Every day my legs don’t work is a day closer to him consolidating enough power that no one can touch him."

"You’ll heal," Luca said. "And when you do, we’ll come at him smarter. Better prepared."

"Three to four months," Dante said bitterly. "Maybe longer. He could own half of Europe by then."

Luca didn’t have an answer for that. He just refilled Dante’s wine glass and left him alone with his thoughts.

Dante sat in the darkness of his study long after the household had gone quiet. His phone sat on the desk in front of him, his actual phone, the one only a handful of people had the number to.

It rang at 11:47 PM.

Unknown number.

Dante almost didn’t answer. Almost let it go to voicemail like he did with numbers he didn’t recognize. But something made him pick it up.

"Yes," he said.

There was a pause on the other end. Then a voice...male, calm, with a faint accent Dante couldn’t immediately place.

"Mr. Romano," the voice said. "I apologize for the late hour. I understand you’re recovering from a significant injury."

Dante’s grip tightened on the phone. "Who is this? How did you get this number?"

"My name isn’t important right now," the voice said. "What’s important is that I represent an organization that shares your interest in Dimitri Valentino."

Dante went very still.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said carefully.

"I think you do," the voice replied. "You’ve been at war with him for months. Seven men on an island. A warehouse in Long Island City. A failed extraction attempt that cost you thirty-seven soldiers and the use of your legs. We’ve been watching, Mr. Romano. Very closely."

"Watching from where?" Dante demanded.

"You already suspect who we are," the voice said. "I can hear it in your silence."

"The Covenant," Dante said slowly. "I thought that operation was finished. Burned to the ground months ago."

"Yes," the voice confirmed. "By a man posing as Dr. Aleksandr Volkov. A man who infiltrated our operation, planted explosives, and burned twelve years of research to the ground along with everyone inside."