The unstoppable Dante

Three Days Later

Lucas slammed the empty bottle on the table, his fourth for the day, and it wasn't even noon. He muttered under his breath, his face red with frustration. "Dante kills my father, and the authorities just let him walk. This is bullshit. Absolute bullshit!"

Mia entered the room quietly, her heels clicking against the marble floor. "Lucas," she said softly, trying to sound calm, "you need to take it easy. Drinking like this isn't going to solve anything."

He shot her a glare, his voice sharp. "Take it easy? Take it easy? My father's dead, and Dante—Dante!—is out there celebrating like nothing happened! And you want me to take it easy?"

Mia hesitated, her voice faltering. "I'm not saying it's fair, but…" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Because of all this, the wedding… it's been postponed until further notice."

Lucas froze, then slowly stood, his eyes narrowing. "Postponed?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You're postponing our wedding because of this?"

"Lucas, it's not just me. My parents—"

"Don't you dare lecture me right now," Lucas snapped, his tone venomous. He stepped closer, his jaw tightening.

Mia took a step back, raising her hands in surrender. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry, okay? I'll leave you alone." She turned quickly and left the room, the tension thick in the air.

Lucas sat back down, his mind racing. "Dante's next move…" he muttered to himself. "He's planning something, I know it. And if he's targeting anyone, it'll be someone who knows too much." He slammed his fist on the table. "The doctor. Mark Williams. Dante's going after him. I can't let that happen."

---

Meanwhile, on a yacht…

Dante leaned back in his chair, watching the waves and the birds circling above. He smirked, the scene reminding him of the boat cruises he used to take with his parents. "Funny how life works," he murmured to himself, his voice low.

One of his men approached, standing at attention. "Boss, we've got a lead."

Dante raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue.

"The doctor—Mark Williams. We've traced him. Good news is, he's got a routine. Every Thursday at 9:00 AM, he goes to Eden Bliss Spa for a massage."

Dante's smirk widened. "Eden Bliss Spa, huh?" He stood, brushing invisible lint off his jacket. "Perfect. That's where we're heading."

The guard handed him a sleek black suit. "Picked this up for you, Boss. Thought you might want to blend in."

Dante chuckled, taking the suit. "Blend in? No need. I'm making a statement." He slipped into the suit, straightening the lapels. "How long until we get there?"

"Thirty minutes, tops," the guard replied.

"Good." Dante grabbed his sunglasses and walked toward the waiting black Jeep. His guards flanked him as he slid into the backseat. "Let's pay the good doctor a visit."

The engine roared to life, and the convoy sped off toward Eden Bliss Spa. Dante leaned back, a calm smile on his face.

"This time," he said, almost to himself, "nobody's walking away clean."

Eden Bliss Spa

The bald-headed man strolled into the spa, nodding briefly as the receptionist greeted him.

"Good morning, Dr. Williams. Your usual room?"

He sighed and gave a small nod, signing his name on the log. "Yes. Same time, same room."

The receptionist smiled warmly. "Enjoy your session, Doctor."

Dr. Mark Williams made his way to the massage room, pulling off his shirt and trousers. He wrapped a towel around his waist, settling face-down on the massage chair with a long exhale. The tension in his muscles began to ease as he waited.

After a few minutes, he felt hands kneading his back. It was firm, precise—just what he needed.

"This is good," he muttered, his voice muffled. "You always know the spots to hit."

The hands suddenly stopped. A moment later, he heard the door open and close softly. Confused, he lifted his head slightly.

"Hello? Where'd you go?"

The silence was unsettling. Moments later, the sound of shoes echoed against the tiled floor. The hands returned, stronger this time, almost too firm.

"Hey," Mark started, turning his head to look up, "you're a bit rough—" His voice caught in his throat when he noticed the men in black suits, some armed, standing around the room.

The man massaging him stepped back, and another figure walked into his line of sight.

"Good morning, Doctor," Dante Sinclair greeted, his tone calm but chilling.

Mark's eyes widened in shock. "Dante... What are you doing here?" He sat up quickly, clutching the towel around his waist. His mind raced. The missed calls from Lucas... This is what he was calling about.

Mark tried to bolt toward the door, but two armed guards stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

"Leaving so soon?" Dante asked, his voice dangerously smooth. "But we're just catching up. It's been a very, very long time."

"Look," Mark stammered, backing toward the wall, "I don't know what this is about, but you've got the wrong guy. I didn't do anything!"

Dante chuckled, his hands sliding into his pockets. "Oh, Mark. You've been a very busy man, haven't you? All those little messages, it must have caused a fortune"

Dante leaned back in the chair, his calm demeanor masking the tension in the room. "Dr. Williams," he began, his tone smooth, "where does a doctor get the kind of money to afford a $500,000 massage every Thursday?"

Mark's mouth opened, but no words came out. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he clutched the towel tighter around himself.

Dante smiled, tilting his head. "Relax, Doctor. Sit."

Mark hesitated, but the presence of armed guards left no room for rebellion. He sank back into the chair, visibly trembling.

"Good," Dante said, leaning forward slightly. "This is just therapy, after all."

"What do you want from me?" Mark finally managed, his voice shaky.

Dante chuckled softly, his fingers drumming on the table. "A story."

Mark blinked in confusion. "A... story?"

"Yes. A story of betrayal," Dante replied, his voice dropping an octave. "Picture this: a lion, proud and strong, betrayed by his own pack. The hyenas work together to take him down. The question is, who led the charge?"

"I-I don't understand," Mark stuttered, feigning ignorance.

Dante's smile vanished, replaced by an icy glare. "Don't play dumb, Doctor. Who had their hands in my mother's death? Talk, or you might be the next one to meet my uncle."

At the mention of Marley Sinclair, Mark visibly shivered, his resolve crumbling. "I'll talk," he blurted out, his voice cracking. "It's... It's Victor. Victor Sinclair knows about it. He... He had a hand in it!"

Dante leaned back, exhaling slowly as if savoring the confession. "Victor," he repeated, the name dripping with venom. "My own brother."

He gestured to his guards. "Take him."

"No! Wait!" Mark pleaded, panic setting in.

The guards ignored him, grabbing him roughly and shoving him into a large sack. His muffled cries echoed faintly as they carried him off.

As Dante stood to leave, his eyes caught the doctor's phone vibrating on the table. He picked it up, staring at the screen as an incoming call flashed. Without hesitation, he answered.

"Where the hell are you?" came an angry voice on the other end. "Lucas has been trying to call you! You need to be careful of—"

Dante interrupted, his voice calm and deliberate. "Hello, Victor."

A long pause followed. Then, "Dante..."

"Yes," Dante said, his tone sharp. "Long time no see brother"

The line went dead. Dante smirked, slipping the phone into his pocket. "This is going to be fun."