I descended the steps with a low growl, the sound rumbling in my chest as I stood squarely in front of a man with slicked black hair and sunglasses so dark they obscured his eyes. He wore a tailored black suit, both hands clasped in front of him.
“Nico Moretti. Welcome to Milan.” His tone was flat, devoid of warmth or welcome.
I held my gaze steady, choosing to say nothing as I studied him.
His eyes flicked over my shoulder, and a fleeting smile broke through his stoic facade. “Dante. Long time, no see. Can’t believe you’re alive.”
“Yes, it has been a long time, Tony,” Dante replied, as if we were simply catching up over coffee. “Does the boss know I’m alive?” he asked.
Tony’s smile faded, his expression growing serious. “Yes. Be prepared to explain yourself.”
Dante gave him a curt nod, recognizing the warning behind his words.
“Follow me,” Tony said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the open door of a Hummer.
We slipped into the car, and the driver pulled away. The landscape unfolded around us, bursting with lush greenery and rolling hills. Elegant villas were scattered across the hillsides.
Forty-five minutes later, we reached a white stone mansion surrounded by a sturdy stone brick wall. The car stopped in frontof the double black iron gates, a letter G design at the center, flanked by two armed guards.
As the gates opened with a soft creak, we drove along the winding stone driveway that curved through a landscaped courtyard filled with colorful flowers and neatly trimmed hedges. The car stopped in front of the grand entrance, where two guards stood before an elaborate door embellished with intricate carvings and elegant wall sconces.
“Remember,” Dante began, “don’t go off the rails. Alphonse won’t hesitate to kill you.”
I smirked, unfazed by the man who waited for me behind those castle walls.
The driver opened the door with a practiced gesture, guiding us to the threshold. One by one, we climbed out and followed Tony up the steps toward the front doors.
“Ciao,” an older woman greeted us with a warm smile as they swung open.
“Ciao,” we replied. She stepped aside, allowing us to enter.
We followed Tony down a long hallway to a pair of glass doors, monitored by two guards. Beyond the doors, the room welcomed us with tall windows that framed a view of the mountains. A grand piano stood in the corner of the room, its polished surface gleaming under the soft light. A violin rested beside it. My heart ached at the sight, memories of my angel flooding my mind.
“Dante.” The deep, resonant voice pulled me away from my thoughts.
Alphonse Gambino stood before us, taller than I had imagined, his presence commanding in a fitted navy sweater and tan slacks. What captured my attention most were his amber-colored eyes, glowing like warm honey, just like Gigi’s. And he was staring at Dante as if he’d seen a ghost.
His jaw went slack, and the blood drained from his face. He took a stumbling step back. “Dante?” The name was a mere whisper.
“Hello, Al.” Dante replied.
“How are you alive?” Alphonse breathed.
“I never died, Al.”
Alphonse shook his head. “No. No, you are dead. You didn’t survive…”
“Al, why would you think I was dead? Did someone tell you that?” Dante pressed, his brow furrowing.
“I mourned you, Dante. The day you left…you died. How the fuck are you standing in my house?”
Dante took a tentative step forward. “Al, what happened after we left Italy?”
Alphonse’s face twisted in pain. “I losteverythingthat day.” Before Dante could respond, Alphonse closed the distance between them, enveloping Dante in a fierce embrace.
“It’s so good to see you, my friend,” he murmured, patting Dante on the back.
“Same here,” Dante replied.
