Chapter 8 - The Encrypted Signal
The sound was a soft, electronic double-beep coming from a battered military-grade tactical case resting on a wooden workbench.
Dante stiffened. He crossed the concrete floor in a few long strides, dropped to one knee beside the case, and punched a rapid sequence into a mechanical combination lock. The lid popped open with a hiss, revealing a glowing satellite terminal and a secure scrambler phone blinking with an amber text notification.
He lifted the handset, his eyes scanning a string of data scrolling across the tiny green screen.
"Is it Paulie?" Mave asked, stepping closer, keeping her distance from the heavy machinery.
"Worse," Dante muttered, his jaw tightening into a hard line. "It's Marcus."
"Who the hell is Marcus?"
"My second-in-command," Dante said, standing up slowly, the phone clutched tightly in his fist. "The man who was supposed to be managing the northern docks while I was in Boston. The man who signed off on my execution squad."
Mave’s blood ran cold. "He betrayed you?"
"Power abhors a vacuum," Dante said coldly. "And a wounded boss is just an opportunity for ambitious lieutenants."
The scrambler phone buzzed violently in his hand, vibrating against his palm. Dante hit the speakerphone button, keeping the volume low.
"Dante," a smooth, cultured voice echoed from the tiny speaker—a voice that carried an oily, deceptive warmth. "I was beginning to think the rats in the alley had finished what Paulie started. Are you enjoying the city air?"
Dante’s voice dropped into a register so cold and lethal it made Mave shiver. "You made a mistake leaving me alive, Marcus."
A low, mocking chuckle came through the line. "Alive? You're bleeding out in a hole somewhere, dragging a diner waitress and a stray dog through the mud. The family council has already voted, Dante. By sundown, your assets are frozen, your territories are divided, and your name is history. Come out of hiding. Let's make this clean."
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"Tell you what, Marcus," Dante snarled, his thumb hovering over the disconnect button. "I'll see you at the table. And bring an extra chair—you're going to need it to hold your jaw up when I walk through the door."
He killed the call, plunging the basement back into heavy, suffocating silence.
