The unstoppable Dante

Lucas stepped into the backyard, the cool breeze doing little to calm his frayed nerves. He pulled out his phone, dialing Victor's number with a sharp jab of his finger. Pacing the length of the garden, his tone was already laced with frustration when Victor answered.

"I told him, Victor," Lucas snapped, not waiting for a greeting. "I warned the damn doctor. I said there'd be consequences if he didn't cooperate. But he ignored me, and now he's gone. Vanished! And no one knows where the hell he is."

Victor's voice on the other end was steady but tense. "Calm down. We know who took him."

Lucas stopped dead in his tracks, narrowing his eyes. "Who?"

There was a brief pause before Victor said the name. "Dante."

For a moment, Lucas was silent. Then he let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Dante? Of course, it's him. He's like a damn roach—always creeping back no matter how many times you think you've crushed him. What's his problem now?"

Victor's tone sharpened. "He knows, Lucas."

Lucas frowned, his grip tightening on the phone. "Knows what?"

"Everything," Victor replied. "The murder. The plan. All of it."

Lucas froze, his jaw tightening as the weight of those words sank in. "How the hell does he know that? Who's been talking?"

"It doesn't matter how," Victor said quickly, trying to cut off Lucas's rising anger. "What matters is that he knows. And he's coming for all of us."

Lucas sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Coming for us? What's he gonna do, Victor? Shake his fist and make threats? He's got nothing—no power, no influence. You know that. I've spent years building connections, making sure people like him stay out of my way. He doesn't stand a chance."

Victor's voice dropped a notch, carrying a note of warning. "That's what you think."

Lucas frowned, resuming his pacing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"The Dante we're dealing with now isn't the same guy we destroyed back then," Victor said.

Lucas stopped, his voice low and dangerous. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying he's not alone this time," Victor replied.

Lucas stiffened, the words cutting through his bravado. "Not alone? Who's with him?"

"We're not sure yet," Victor admitted. "But someone—or something—is backing him. Giving him resources, protection, information. Something big enough to make him bold enough to move against us."

Lucas let out a humorless chuckle, though there was an edge of unease in his voice. "You're telling me Dante's got help? From who? Some wannabe hero with a grudge? A gang? None of that matters, Victor. Nobody's untouchable. I've dealt with worse."

"It's not that simple," Victor shot back. "Whoever's backing him knows exactly where to hit us. They're strategic. Organized. This isn't just Dante flailing around in the dark."

Lucas clenched his fists, the calm mask he tried to maintain cracking under the pressure. "So what are you saying? That we should just roll over and let him come for us? Is that it?"

"Of course not," Victor said, his tone sharp. "But we can't underestimate him. Not this time. We need to find out who's behind him, and we need to do it fast. If we don't, he'll tear everything we've built apart."

The cold splash of water on his face jolted the doctor awake. He blinked rapidly, his vision blurry at first, but the harsh reality of his surroundings quickly came into focus. He was at a seaport, tied to a rusty anchor.

Dante stood a few feet away, leaning casually against a weathered pillar, his arms crossed. The dim light cast shadows across his face, highlighting his cold, calculated expression.

"Good. You're awake," Dante said, his voice low and calm, which only made it more menacing.

The doctor squirmed, testing the ropes around his wrists and ankles. "What... what is this? Why are you doing this?"

Dante pushed off the pillar, his boots crunching against the concrete as he approached. "I'm asking the questions here, Doc. You answer, or—"

Before the doctor could finish his protest, a sudden jolt of electricity surged through his body. He convulsed, gasping in pain.

"Ahh! What—what was that?" he cried out, trembling as the shock subsided.

"I warned you," Dante said coldly, holding up a small remote with a button on it. "You speak when I allow it. Understand?"

The doctor nodded frantically, his body still recovering from the shock. "Y-yes. Yes, I understand."

"Good," Dante said, crouching down to meet the doctor's eye level. His tone was calm, almost conversational, but the fire in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. "Now, why did they kill my mother?"

The doctor's face paled. "Your mother? I—"

Dante's finger hovered over the remote. "Don't play dumb, Doc. I know you were involved. Why did they kill her?"

The doctor hesitated, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "It… it was for her own good," he stammered.

Dante's jaw tightened. He stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth. "Her own good? That's the excuse you're going with?"

The doctor flinched. "Please, you have to understand. She was suffering—"

Another shock coursed through the doctor's body, cutting him off mid-sentence. He writhed against the ropes, letting out a strangled cry.

"Enough lies!" Dante shouted, his calm demeanor cracking. "I said, why did they kill her?"

Breathing heavily, the doctor nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything. Just… no more shocks, please."

Dante leaned in closer, his voice low and deadly. "Start talking."

The doctor swallowed hard. "A few days before her death, your father came to the office. He said your mother was showing signs of… instability. A kind of madness."

Dante froze. "Madness?" he repeated, his tone sharp. "What madness? I never heard anything about this."

The doctor licked his dry lips, his voice trembling. "It started years ago, after your twin brother died. The grief—it consumed her. She managed to suppress it for a long time, but… it came back. Stronger."

Dante stared at him, his mind reeling. "You're saying she went mad because of grief?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes. Your father said she was losing control. Her episodes became more frequent, more… dangerous. They thought it was best to… to give her peace."

"Peace?" Dante's voice cracked, and he grabbed the doctor by the collar. "You're telling me they murdered her because she was grieving? That's what you call peace?"

The doctor shook his head frantically. "I didn't make the decision! Your father did! He agreed it was the only way to protect her… and you."

Dante let go of the doctor, stumbling back as if the words had physically struck him. He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing uneven. "My father knew? He knew about this? He agreed to it?"

"Yes," the doctor whispered, his voice barely audible. "He knew everything."

Dante turned away, his hands clenched into fists. The anger, the betrayal, the sorrow—it all came crashing down on him at once. "He let her die. He let them kill her. And for what? To save face? To protect his damn reputation?"

The doctor didn't answer, too terrified to speak.

Dante spun around, his eyes blazing. "You better pray that's the whole truth, Doc. Because if I find out you're holding back—"

"I swear, that's all I know!" the doctor pleaded. "Please, just let me go!"

Dante took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He stepped back, his voice cold and detached. "You're not going anywhere until I decide what to do with you. And trust me, Doc, I'm not feeling very forgiving right now."