Page 6 of Dark Mafia Heir

I roll my eyes, and we start walking toward his car parked on the curb. “I blame your fucking temper. Maybe if you’d invited him out to dinner, instead of putting two bullets in his legs, he’d have told you everything you needed to know and offered even more?”

He laughs, running his fingers through his hair, before we hop in. “I’m sorry. Next time, I’d think of asking a fleeing culprit out to dinner, before putting bullets in his legs to stop him from escaping.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I face the road ahead when the engine starts. Everyone knew Lorenzo could be a thorn in the side, but his rash, irrational methods had always worked. That is, until today.

It doesn’t matter; Hayes’ death won’t hinder us from finding out who launched the attack. Dante always gets what he wants, when he wants it.

My phone vibrates, and I take it out of my suit and put the phone on speaker.

“What?”

“Nio?” I glance at the screen again. The caller ID says Dario, but it’s not Dario’s voice. “Giovanni? Where the fuck is Dario? Why are you with his phone?”

There is only one reason someone else would handle Dario’s phone, and that was during emergencies.

Giovanni’s voice is quiet and hard, but I feel the weight of his words sink down on my shoulders like a ton of bricks after he says, “Dante’s dead. Dario is with Doctor Matteo, trying to sort shit out.”

Lorenzo’s fingers freeze on the wheel, and he hastily swerves to a corner, stepping on the brakes.

Dante’s dead.

The big boss himself was dead, and I sure as hell knew he didn’t have a fucking accident or fall ill overnight. Blinding rage hits me hard, and my lungs constrict until the air in it burns.

“What the fuck happened and when?”

“Almost an hour ago, right after we got a call about the attack on the club. It was a direct hit. He was lured out to a bay and shot. Six times.”

The air in my lungs turned to flames, threatening to consume everything in its path until I find the person responsible.

Dante wasn’t the best person. His heart was as dark as the evil that plagued the world, and he had many sins he was yet to atone for. Still, he took me in when nobody else did, trained me, made me the man I am today. He taught me all I know now, and for the longest time, I was indebted to him.

Without Dante, there’d be no Antonio Mancini.

No Lorenzo.

No Luca.

I clutched the phone with a death grip, grating my teeth while blood pounded in my ears. “Are there any leads?”

“The last person he was in contact with was Peter Cole.”

Just then, my phone screen lights up with a text message from Luca. I assume he’s telling me what I already know about Dante being dead, so I ignore it. Giovanni is still talking about Dante’s communication with Peter occurring about two hours before the hit when another text comes in.

“Hold on, Giovanni.”

Hastily, I open the messages to type a quick response, and my heart sinks to the bottom of my chest when I read the last one.

Luca:Nio…

Luca:Fuck, Nio, this is urgent.

Luca:Those girls… the sisters… they’re Peter Cole’s daughters.

3

Vivienne

Papa’s study is eerily quiet, as it usually is. The air is thick and smells like polished wood and old books. But, otherwise, everything else is properly organized, and the surfaces are spick and span. Just the way he likes it.

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