Chapter 2 - The Lion's Interest
The interior of the Maybach was an oasis of quiet, wrapped in black leather and smelling of rich tobacco. The tinted privacy glass silenced the roar of Manhattan traffic, transforming the flashing city lights into muted streaks of neon across Dante Moretti’s sharp profile.
Catherine sat in the passenger seat opposite Dante, a silver thermos of hot tea in her trembling hands. Dante’s driver, a silent man with scarred knuckles named Luca, navigated the heavy traffic toward Midtown.
On the mahogany console between them lay the folder from Daniel Brooks. Dante was reading through it with the cold, meticulous focus of a general reviewing battle maps.
“Fourteen million,” Dante said, his thumb running over Jason’s forged signature on an offshore guarantee. “He used your boutique’s tax identification number to secure private mezzanine loans through an overseas clearinghouse.”
“Vanguard Alpha,” Catherine said, her voice steadying as she sipped the hot tea. “My attorney found it three days ago. Jason told me he was expanding his asset management firm into European logistics. I had no idea Vanguard was tied to anything illegal until Daniel warned me that the money was disappearing into numbered accounts in Cyprus.”
Dante raised his eyes from the papers. The smoke-colored irises caught the interior ambient light, gleaming like polished steel.
“Vanguard Alpha is not in Cyprus, Catherine,” Dante said smoothly. “It is a debt-collection subsidiary that belongs to the Moretti family. Or rather, it belonged to a rogue lieutenant of mine named Marcus Vane—who mistakenly believed he could run an unauthorized side operation under my family’s name without my knowledge.”
Catherine froze, the teacup hovering an inch from her lips. “The Moretti family? As in... the Moretti syndicate?”
Dante didn’t deny it. He didn't blink. He simply tilted his head, watching her reaction with an intensity that made the air in the vehicle feel charged with electricity.
“Most women in your position would be screaming to be let out at the next intersection,” Dante observed quietly.
“Most women’s husbands haven’t just handed them divorce papers while sitting next to their best friend wearing their clothes,” Catherine countered, her chin lifting defiantly. “I don’t care who you are, Mr. Moretti. What I care about is whether my husband used my business to launder your money.”
A slow, genuine smile parted Dante’s lips. It was not a warm smile, but it held profound respect.
“He didn't launder it,” Dante said, closing the file with a decisive snap. “He lost it. Jason Bennett borrowed fourteen million from Vane to cover catastrophic short positions in commercial real estate. When Vane demanded repayment, your charming husband offered your design firm, your grandmother’s pre-war duplex on Park Avenue, and your client accounts as collateral.”
A chill ran down Catherine’s spine. “He pledged my grandmother’s apartment?”
“He forged your power of attorney,” Dante corrected, leaning forward slightly. The proximity brought the scent of cedar and expensive spice closer, invading Catherine’s senses. “The divorce papers he tried to force on you tonight were his exit strategy. Once you signed away your rights to the estate, Jason intended to turn over the keys to Vane, declare bankruptcy, and run off to the Caymans with Allison Reed and whatever scrap cash remained.”
The full, nauseating scope of Jason’s betrayal settled over Catherine. It wasn’t just an affair. It was financial murder. Jason had planned to leave her utterly destitute, homeless, and facing federal indictments for debts she had never incurred, while he sailed off into the sunset with the woman she had once called a sister.
Her hands tightened on the thermos until her knuckles turned white.
“What happened to Marcus Vane?” Catherine asked.
Dante’s expression darkened into something ancient and merciless. “Marcus was dealt with yesterday morning. The Moretti name does not prey on legitimate businesses, nor do we permit thieves to operate within our borders. Which leaves your husband’s debt directly in my hands.”
Catherine looked him dead in the eye. “I don’t have fourteen million dollars, Mr. Moretti. And even if I did, I wouldn't pay a single cent of Jason’s gambling debts.”
“I didn't ask you for money,” Dante said softly.
He leaned back against the leather seat, crossing his long legs. “Jason Bennett humiliated you in a room full of people. He laid his hands on you in the street. And he attempted to frame an innocent woman to save his own miserable skin.”
“And what does that matter to you?”
“Because,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a register that sent a shiver straight through her core, “I despise men who strike women. I despise thieves who hide behind expensive suits. And most of all, I despise people who take what is not theirs.”
He reached out, his long, calloused fingers gently covering Catherine’s bruised wrist. His touch was unexpectedly warm, firm yet surprisingly gentle against her skin.
“You want your revenge, Catherine?” Dante asked. “Or do you want to spend the next five years drowning in bankruptcy courts while Jason buys penthouses under his mistress’s name?”
“I want him destroyed,” Catherine said without a second of hesitation. The raw truth came out before she could filter it. “I want him to lose everything he took from me. I want Allison to realize what she threw her life away for. And I want my grandmother’s home protected.”
Dante’s eyes flared with pure, predatory satisfaction.
May you like
“Then we have an accord,” Dante murmured. “Starting tonight, Mrs. Bennett, you are under my protection. Tomorrow morning, we introduce your husband to the reality he created.”
***
