Chapter 3: The Brother
Matteo dropped a thick manila folder onto Dante’s desk. It hit the polished mahogany with a heavy thud. Outside, the Boston skyline was entirely swallowed by a thick, unforgiving fog. Dante didn't touch the folder right away. He simply stared at it, knowing that whatever was inside would dictate his next move.
"You were right," Matteo said, pulling up a chair and pouring himself a drink from the crystal decanter. "It took some digging, and a lot of cash to break a private doctor’s NDA, but we found it. Senator Sterling didn't lay a hand on her."
Dante’s eyes narrowed. "Then who did?"
"Her older brother. Julian." Matteo took a slow sip of his whiskey, his expression grim. "Julian Sterling has a long, documented history of explosive anger management issues. The Senator has spent millions covering it up to protect his own political campaigns. Whenever Julian flew off the handle, Aria took the brunt of it. She was the family’s punching bag. Kept quiet, kept out of the press, and conditioned to take the hits so the golden boy wouldn't ruin their reputation."
Dante finally reached out and opened the folder. The first page was a copy of a private medical record from three years ago. Fractured wrist. Cause: Fall down the stairs. The second was from a year later. Concussion. Cause: Equestrian accident. By the time he reached the photos of the bruises that had been meticulously documented by a bribed family physician, Dante’s vision had tunneled.
A cold, lethal calm washed over him. It was the same icy detachment he felt right before he dismantled a rival syndicate.
"Where is Julian now?" Dante asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"He’s in town. Celebrating the successful merger of his father’s political influence and your territory. He’s hosting a private poker game at his penthouse tonight." Matteo hesitated. "Dante, if you touch the Senator’s son, the treaty is void. We go to war with City Hall."
"The treaty was void the moment Julian Sterling put his hands on my wife," Dante corrected him. He closed the folder and stood up, buttoning his suit jacket with deliberate, measured movements. "Gather five men. Tell them we're going for a drive."
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"What’s the play here, Boss? Are we sending a message?"
"No," Dante replied, turning toward the door, his eyes completely devoid of mercy. "Messages are for negotiations. We are past negotiating. We are going to ensure that Julian Sterling understands exactly what it costs to touch something that belongs to me. By the time I’m done with him tonight, he won't be able to lift his hands to comb his own hair, let alone strike a woman ever again."
