Part 2: He ignored 11 emergency calls from his pregnant wife to stay with his mistress, totally unaware she was being abused as a servant in the very mansion he bought for her.

The corridor turned Arctic.

Dante didn’t shout. He didn’t draw the custom Kimber .45 concealed beneath his armpit. He simply looked at Vanessa Laurent, and the aura of lethal authority that had brought five crime families to their knees enveloped the narrow hallway like suffocating smoke.

"Laundry?" Dante asked, his voice chillingly smooth.

Vanessa swallowed hard, clutching her designer leather purse against her chest. "Y-yes... you know how she’s been lately, Dante. Withdrawn, erratic. She insisted on cleaning the west wing herself. I tried to tell her to rest, but she acted out of spite—"

"Take it off," Dante interrupted.

Vanessa blinked, confused. "What?"

"The necklace." Dante took one measured step forward. His towering six-foot-three frame completely blocked out the fluorescent hospital lights, casting a massive shadow over her. "Take off the necklace I gave my wife on our second anniversary. Now."

Vanessa’s hand flew to her throat, her manicured red nails grazing the glittering stones. "Dante, you gave this to me last month when you said she didn't appreciate anything you bought—"

*Crack.*

Before Vanessa could finish her sentence, Dante’s hand snapped out like a striking viper. He didn't touch her skin; instead, his thick fingers hooked into the platinum chain and ripped it clean off her neck. The delicate links snapped with a sharp sound, sending a shower of minute sparks through the air. Vanessa shrieked in shock, stumbling back against the wall, clutching her red, irritated skin.

Dante held the crushed pendant in his fist, the diamonds digging into his palm until crimson blood welled between his fingers. He didn't even blink.

"Where did she get the uniform, Vanessa?" he whispered.

"I... I don't know!" she stammered, terror finally cracking her polished facade. "She put it on herself! She wanted to humiliate you—"

"My wife is eight months pregnant with twins," Dante said, every syllable dropping like a lead weight. "She was battered. Her wrists bear defensive finger marks. And the family driver, Marco, just called my personal line two minutes ago."

Vanessa’s face lost every shred of color. Her lips trembled.

"Marco told me," Dante continued, his voice lowering to a demonic register, "that when Emily begged him to bring the car around because she was bleeding, *you* confiscated the keys. You told him that if he drove her, I would have him put in the ground. Is that true, Vanessa?"

"She’s lying! Marco is lying!" Vanessa cried out, looking around desperately, but the two armed Russo enforcers guarding the corridor only stared at her with dead eyes. "Dante, listen to me! She’s trying to destroy us! She doesn't love you! She’s been meeting other men—"

Dante reached into the pocket of Vanessa’s coat, ignoring her gasp, and yanked out the contents of her leather handbag. Cosmetics, gold compacts, and a folded stack of thick, legal-grade parchment tumbled across the linoleum floor.

One document slid to Dr. Miller’s feet. The doctor looked down, his brow furrowing as he read the bold header: **PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE AND SOLE CUSTODY.**

At the bottom of the document was Dante Russo’s unmistakable signature.

Dante stared at the paper. He slowly crouched down, picked it up, and examined the ink. It was an exquisite forgery, perfected down to the slight drag of the ‘R’.

"You forged my name," Dante whispered, the realization hitting him with sickening clarity. "You walked into my house, made my pregnant wife wear the rags of a servant, told her I was discarding her, and threatened to take her unborn children away."

"Dante, please—"

"Who was the man with you?"

Vanessa froze, her eyes widening in absolute horror. "W-what man?"

"The paramedics noted three people were in the foyer when they arrived," Dante said, his voice dropping into an abyss of promised violence. "You. Emily. And a man with a scar slicing through his left eyebrow. Vincent Moretti."

Vanessa gasped, covering her mouth.

"The Moretti syndicate murdered my uncle three years ago," Dante stated, his gaze piercing through her soul. "And you brought their primary enforcer into my home, to corner my wife while I was busy ignoring her calls."

Dante leaned down until his lips were inches from Vanessa’s ear. "If my wife dies tonight, you will pray for the sweet release of a bullet. But I will not give it to you. Guards!"

Two massive men stepped forward instantly. "Boss?"

"Take her to the basement of the warehouse on 4th Street," Dante commanded coldly. "Do not kill her. Do not let her sleep. Strip her of every jewel, every dress, every cent she ever took from my accounts. Let her sit in the dark until I arrive."

"Dante! No! Please! I did it for you! I love you!" Vanessa screamed as the guards seized her arms, dragging her kicking and weeping down the tiled hallway, her manicured nails clawing uselessly at the walls until the heavy doors swung shut behind her.

Silence descended upon the floor once more.