Chapter 7 - The Poisoned Dinner
Dante Caruso paced his Midtown office like a caged panther waiting for slaughter.
His hair was disheveled, his silk tie discarded on the leather couch, and his eyes bloodshot with adrenaline and sleepless rage.
On the mahogany desk sat his gold lighter, flicking open and shut in an endless, rhythmic metallic click.
Nico Valenti stood across from him, reading updates from a burner phone.
“The rumors are spreading fast, Dante,” Nico murmured cautiously.
“Our loan sharks in Brooklyn have paused cash collections until they know if the Red Hook docks are opening on Monday.
The street thinks you’re losing control.”
Dante slammed the lighter onto the wood.
“I haven't lost a damn thing!
One disgruntled woman filing civil paperwork does not destroy thirty years of absolute supremacy!”
“She didn't just file civil paperwork, Dante!” Nico shouted back, breaking his usual stoic composure.
“She met with Carmine Moretti three hours ago in Astoria!
My scouts saw her walk into his private diner and walk out twenty minutes later under an escort of six black Cadillacs!
She isn't acting like an angry wife, Dante.
She’s acting like an opposing boss!”
Dante froze, his fingers digging into the edge of his desk until his nails turned white.
The thought of Elena—his sweet, quiet Elena who used to fall asleep with her head on his bare chest—standing in a smoke-filled room giving orders to Carmine Moretti made his stomach churn with acid.
“Get Frank and Leo,” Dante commanded, his voice dropping into a terrifying register of cold malice.
“Bring Arthur Sterling back up here immediately.”
Ten minutes later, Arthur Sterling was pushed into the room, his glasses crooked and his suit rumpled with sweat.
“Dante, please, I told you everything the court gave me—”
“Shut your mouth and listen to me,” Dante interrupted, circling the terrified attorney like a vulture.
“You drew up our prenuptial agreement eight years ago.
You embedded the emergency asset transfer clauses.
How do I nullify her majority shares in Vance Maritime without her physical signature?”
Sterling swallowed hard, trembling.
“You...
you can’t, Dante.
Unless—”
“Unless what?” Dante roared, closing the distance between them until his breath hit the lawyer’s face.
“Unless she is declared legally incapacitated or deceased,” Sterling stammered, pulling at his collar.
“If Elena is institutionalized under medical emergency or...
or suffers an unfortunate fatality, the sole voting power reverts automatically to the surviving spouse within seventy-two hours.”
Dante stepped back slowly, his eyes darkening as the implications settled into his mind.
Nico’s eyes widened with genuine shock.
“Dante, no.
You can't touch her.
If you kill your own wife after she filed an injunction in open court, the feds will tear down every door we own before the sun sets.”
“Who said anything about killing her?” Dante whispered, a sickening smile touching the corners of his lips.
“Elena has a documented medical history of severe anxiety after her father’s death.
Her mother died in a psychiatric ward in Boston twenty years ago.
Madness runs in the Vance bloodline.”
Dante turned toward Nico, his eyes gleaming with ruthless resolve.
“Elena is staying at Victoria Vance’s safehouse in Queens.
I don't need a swat team.
I need Dr. Julian Reeves and two unmarked ambulances.
We take her quietly.
We place her in our private clinic in Westchester under heavy sedation.
By Monday morning, I will hold the medical power of attorney signed by two certified psychiatrists.”
Nico looked at his boss with profound hesitation.
“Dante, she was your wife for eight years.
She saved your life when the Lucchese family ambushed us in Soho.”
“And she threw those eight years into the gutter the moment she shook Carmine Moretti’s hand!” Dante hissed, slamming his open palm against the glass window.
“She made her choice, Nico.
She wanted to play mafia games with the grown men of this city.
Now she will learn what happens when you challenge the king.”
Dante grabbed his leather jacket and strapped his custom SIG Sauer into his shoulder holster.
“Call the clinic.
Tell Reeves to prepare room four with maximum restraint protocols.
May you like
Tonight, Elena comes home...
whether she wants to or not.”
