CHAPTER 5
On the high-definition screen sat Damon Cross, sipping scotch in his silk robe, oblivious to the fact that his multi-million-dollar assault team had just been eradicated.
Dante tapped the screen, connecting the audio feed directly to the hedge-fund titan's private line without warning.
"Who is this?" Damon’s arrogant, sharp voice barked through the speaker, annoyed by the interruption to his late-night drink. "If this isn't Sokolov telling me the girl is dead, you have five seconds to explain why you're calling this secure number."
"Your mercenaries are currently fertilizer on my front lawn, Cross," Dante answered, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly low, smooth register.
The glass in Damon's hand froze on the screen, his smug, cruel expression instantly melting into an icy mask of shock and dawning realization.
"Moretti...?" Damon stammered, his posture stiffening as he leaned closer to his camera setup. "What business does the Moretti family have with my runaway trash?"
"She isn't trash, and she certainly isn't yours anymore," Dante growled, stepping closer to Maya so her face was visible in the frame beside him. "Every mark you left on her skin is a debt you are going to pay back to me in pure blood."
Damon let out a harsh, bitter laugh on the screen, trying desperately to regain his composure despite the obvious panic flickering behind his eyes.
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"You're protecting a penniless, illegitimate nobody who is carrying my bloodline?" Damon sneered. "I'll tie up your entire financial network with federal lawsuits by sunrise, Moretti!"
"Try it," Dante stated simply, tapping the screen to sever the connection before turning his full attention back to the woman shivering beside him.
