Chapter 4 - The Spider’s Web
"Tomas Rossi was inside my house," Dante said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.
Marco leaned over Dante’s shoulder to look at the drawing, his breath hitching in his throat. "That's Rossi's signet ring. The amethyst square. His father took it from a Sicilian cardinal forty years ago. But... boss, that's impossible. Our perimeter sensors didn't trip. The gate log didn't register a single unauthorized vehicle."
"A gate is only as secure as the man holding the remote," Dante replied, crumpling the edge of the parchment between his fingers.
The pieces were assembling themselves into a horrific mosaic. Julian Vance hadn't planted the bug. Julian had let Tomas Rossi *into* the estate’s private quarters.
Julian had opened the gates for an assassin.
"Marco," Dante ordered, his tone devoid of all panic, replaced by the lethal clarity that had kept him alive since he was nineteen. "Lock down the external communications immediately. Switch all internal radios to frequency seven—hard-wire only. If Julian tries to transmit an outbound cellular ping, jam it."
"On it," Marco barked, tapping his radio and signaling the two tactical guards stationed at the foyer archways. They vanished down the hallway like ghosts.
Elena collapsed against the wall, her hands over her mouth as she realized the sheer scale of the nightmare her daughter had just stumbled into. "God help us... Mr. Moretti, what have we done? Are they going to kill us?"
Dante turned to Elena. For the first time in years, the iron mask slipped from his features, revealing the fierce, ancient code of honor that modern gangsters had long forgotten.
"Nobody touches a hair on your heads, Elena. You and Mia just saved my life, and likely the lives of fifty men under my command." Dante reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a heavy silver key on a titanium ring, and handed it to Elena. "Take Mia down to the sub-basement panic room behind the wine cellar. There is water, air scrubbers, and reinforced steel. Lock it from the inside and do not open it for anyone except me or Marco. Do you understand?"
Elena nodded tearfully, clutching Mia to her chest. "Yes, Don Dante. Yes."
Before Elena could turn toward the stairs, Mia tugged on Dante’s tailored sleeve.
"Mr. Dante?" she piped up, her brown eyes completely calm.
"Yes, Mia?"
"The snake man said something into his magic phone before he hid in the car trunk."
Dante knelt back down, his pulse hammering against his ribs. "What did he say, little bug-catcher?"
"He said..." Mia wrinkled her nose, imitating a rough, gravelly voice, "'The trap is set at the table. Once Dante wears the black silk, tell the snipers on the roof across the street to shoot when he adjusts his collar.'"
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Dante’s eyes met Marco’s across the grand foyer.
The bug was never just an audio transmitter. It was a radio beacon—a target locator for a high-powered thermal scope. The moment Dante walked into that Mott Street restaurant and reached up to adjust his collar, a sniper three hundred yards away would have punched a .308 round straight through his chest, guided by the radio signal inside the severed tie.
