The night was thick with tension, the air laced with the scent of rain and gunpowder. Montrose City never slept, and neither did its enforcers. Among them, there was one who stood above the rest—Dante Salvatore, Nero's most trusted confidant and executioner.
Dante sat in the back of a sleek black muscle car, parked outside an upscale club in the heart of the city. He adjusted his leather gloves, checking his watch as the seconds ticked by. The job was simple on paper: retrieve a package and send a message. But nothing in Montrose ever went as planned.
The target was a mid-level arms dealer named Victor Morello, a man foolish enough to conduct business without Nero's blessing. That kind of disrespect came with consequences.
"We're on schedule," a voice crackled through Dante's earpiece. It was Luca, his second-in-command, stationed nearby. "Morello just walked in."
Dante exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the pistol concealed beneath his jacket. "Keep eyes on the exits. No loose ends."
Stepping out of the car, he straightened his dark coat and approached the club entrance. The bouncers barely glanced at him before stepping aside. Everyone in Montrose knew Dante Salvatore—they also knew better than to get in his way.
Inside, the bass thumped beneath his feet, the room bathed in flickering neon hues. He moved with purpose, weaving through the crowd until he spotted Morello seated in a private booth, surrounded by hired muscle.
Dante slid into the booth across from him, offering a slow, knowing smirk. "Victor," he greeted, voice smooth but laced with quiet menace. "You've been busy."
Morello stiffened, his fingers twitching toward the table. "Dante, I didn't—"
"Save it." Dante leaned in, his tone dropping to a whisper. "You know the rules. You deal in Montrose, you deal with Nero. Now, I'm here to fix your mistake."
One of Morello's men reached for his gun. A fatal error. Before he could clear leather, Dante had already drawn his pistol, a single suppressed shot cutting through the music. The body slumped forward, the booth now thick with tension and the acrid scent of gunpowder.
Morello paled. "Please, Dante—"
"The package." Dante extended his hand.
With shaking fingers, Morello slid a small, black case across the table. Dante popped it open, inspecting the neatly stacked bills and small bag of rare diamonds inside. Satisfied, he snapped it shut and stood.
"Nero sends his regards," he murmured before turning away. Behind him, Luca and the others moved in, ensuring the message was sent loud and clear.
As Dante stepped back into the night, he lit a cigarette, watching the city lights flicker against the rain-soaked streets. Another job done, another lesson taught. In Montrose, respect wasn't given. It was enforced.