Chapter 6 - Shadows of the Moretti
The raid was not an act of war; it was an execution of divine wrath.
By 3:00 AM, Dante’s personal strike team had breached the Moretti family’s private club in the River North district. Gunfire echoed through the lavish velvet lounges, but it was swift and merciless. Dante moved through the building like an unstoppable specter, a suppressed pistol in his hand, clearing room after room.
In the private penthouse suite above the club, Vincent Moretti was desperately cramming duffel bags with bearer bonds and false passports. The scar across his eyebrow was beaded with sweat.
The heavy mahogany doors flew off their hinges with a thunderous splintering crash.
Moretti spun around, drawing his weapon, but Dante was faster.
A single shot rang out. Moretti’s gun went flying as a bullet tore through his right shoulder. The scarred man collapsed against the wet bar, screaming in agony, clutching the bloody wound.
Dante crossed the room in three strides. He kicked Moretti’s feet out from under him, sending him crashing face-first onto the glass coffee table, which shattered into a thousand jagged shards. Dante pressed a heavy combat boot directly onto Moretti’s neck, pinning him to the floor.
"Dante... wait!" Moretti wheezed, his mouth filling with blood. "It was business! Just business!"
"You touched my wife," Dante said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet vibrating with terrifying fury. "You stood in my foyer and put your hands on the mother of my children."
"Vanessa set it up!" Moretti choked out, his fingers clawing at Dante’s boot. "She told us the house was clear! She said you didn't give a damn about Emily anymore! She said you were sick of her!"
Dante pushed down harder, feeling the man’s windpipe compress. "Where did you get the sedative you gave Vanessa to put in Emily’s food?"
Moretti’s eyes widened with genuine panic. "What? Sedative? I don't know what you're talking about! I swear on my life! We only wanted the divorce papers signed so we could freeze your assets through the shell companies! If Vanessa was poisoning her, that was her own damn idea!"
Dante’s blood turned to ice. *Poisoning her.*
He remembered Dr. Miller’s words earlier: *placental abruption... severe maternal exhaustion... sudden hormonal crashes.*
Vanessa hadn't just humiliated Emily. She had been systematically weakening her, poisoning her slow enough to mimic pregnancy complications so that if Emily died in childbirth, no one would suspect murder.
A cold, bottomless rage enveloped Dante’s soul. He didn't even yell. He simply raised his pistol, aimed it at Moretti’s right kneecap, and pulled the trigger.
Moretti’s scream shook the penthouse walls.
"That," Dante whispered, "is for touching her wrist."
He aimed at the left kneecap and pulled the trigger again.
Another ear-splitting shriek.
"And that is for stepping into my home," Dante said coldly. He turned to Leo, who was waiting at the shattered doorway. "Leave him here. Call an anonymous tip to the local precinct. Tell them Chicago’s most wanted fugitive is waiting for them, crippled and unarmed."
Dante holstered his weapon and checked his watch. 4:15 AM.
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He didn't care about the Moretti syndicate anymore. He didn't care about the shipping docks, the millions of dollars, or the underground crown he wore.
He had to get back to the hospital. He had to be near Emily.
