Chapter 6 - I Like The Chains

Dante's Pov

The fire at the warehouse was like a crack in the dam. I could feel everything I’d built, everything I was, threatening to crumble. Sitting in my private library, I swirled the whiskey in my glass, staring at it as if it held the answers to all my problems. It didn’t. It never did.

I never asked for this life. At eighteen, I should’ve been worrying about college or girls, not burying my father and inheriting his bloodstained empire. My mother, though, she had always insisted I carry the torch. She called it our legacy. I called it a curse.

Then came that night. The one I see every time I close my eyes. The smoke still clings to my nightmares. My mother’s screams. My sister’s cries. I tried to save them. God knows I tried. But I failed.

They were gone in an instant. I barely escaped myself, crawling through blood and ash, barely holding on until one of my father’s men, Gabriel Rucci, saved me. I owe him my life.

But when I woke from that nightmare, something inside me snapped. I hunted down the bastards who did it, made sure their entire bloodline was wiped off the map. Revenge was supposed to fill the gaping hole they left behind. It didn’t.

Since then, killing has become second nature—too easy.. But every time I look in the mirror, I don’t see a man. I see a hollow shell wearing a mask. And the irony? I hate this life, but I can’t let it go. The power, the control, the wealth… They’ve sunk their claws into me. I tell myself I’m trapped, but the truth? I like the chains.

A knock at the door snapped me back to the present. My consigliere entered with his usual tight expression. “They’re waiting for you, Boss.”

I straightened, setting the empty glass on my desk. Time to put the mask back on.

The room felt like a circus. Cameras flashed, reporters barked questions like rabid dogs, their pens poised to carve me into whatever monster would sell the most headlines. But I was used to it. I stood in the center, calm, controlled, my hands clasped loosely in front of me. Let them dig. They wouldn’t find anything.

“Mr. Romano, what do you have to say about the warehouse fire?” one reporter called, her voice slicing through the chaos like a knife.

I met her gaze, my expression impassive. “The fire was an unfortunate incident. We’re cooperating fully with the authorities to determine the cause and ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Unfortunate?” another reporter pressed, his voice laced with accusation. “This fire has raised suspicions about the Romano family’s operations. What do you say to claims that your warehouses are being used as fronts for illegal activities?”

I let a faint smile curl on my lips, just enough to look amused but not rattled. “Claims without evidence are just rumors, and I don’t respond to rumors. The Romano family has always operated with integrity, both in business and in our contributions to the community.”

“What about Gabriel Rucci??” someone else shouted. “He’s been connected to several questionable dealings in the past. Wasn’t he overseeing the warehouse at the time of the fire?”

“Gabriel Rucci is a trusted member of our organization,” I said, my voice steady. “Any insinuation otherwise is baseless. His only involvement was ensuring the safety of our employees during the incident, and I won’t tolerate his name being dragged through the mud without proof.”

Their questions came faster now, like vultures circling a fresh kill.

“Reports suggest the fire may have been deliberate. Was it arson to cover up illegal activities?”

“Your warehouses have been flagged in the past for violations. Can you explain that?”

“Some are saying the Romano empire isn’t as clean as you claim. Care to comment?”

Every question felt like a loaded gun pulled at me, but I deflected them with practiced ease. Years in this life had taught me how to lie without flinching, how to wear a mask that no one could see through.

“The Romano family’s record speaks for itself,” I said smoothly, letting just a hint of steel creep into my tone. “We’ve been audited, investigated, and questioned more times than I can count, and yet here we are—still standing. As for the violations, they were minor and resolved immediately. Every business faces challenges, and we’ve always addressed them responsibly.”

The reporters weren’t satisfied. They were vultures, waiting for a crack. But I gave them nothing. No weaknesses. No ammunition.

“Do you really expect us to believe this fire was just a coincidence, Mr. Romano?” one reporter asked, leaning forward, clearly hoping for a slip-up.

“I expect you to believe the facts,” I replied, my voice cold now. “The facts are simple. One of my workers was careless, and the fire was an accident. Speculation helps no one. My focus is on rebuilding and ensuring the safety of our people, not indulging in baseless accusations.”

I could see their skepticism, their doubt. But I had no intention of giving them more to feed on.

“You mean Antonio Castellano?” one reporter asked, his voice laced with insinuation. “Isn’t he rumored to be… mentally unstable?”

Mentally unstable? The audacity of these vultures made my blood boil. But I didn’t let it show. They wanted a reaction, something they could twist into a headline. Not today.

Before I could say anything to save the face of the man who brought all this calamity, a voice cut through the noise.

“My father is innocent.”

I turned, my gaze sharpening as I saw her—Lucia, standing at the back of the room, her chin raised in defiance, her voice clear and unapologetic.

The room fell silent. Every head turned as she stepped forward, her words ringing out above the murmur of reporters.

“I can prove it,” she added, her eyes locked on me with unwavering intensity.

I stared at her, my amusement carefully hidden behind a mask of indifference. She didn’t know what she was walking into, didn’t understand the game she’d just interrupted. But the fire in her eyes? That, at least, was entertaining.

“Miss,” I said, my tone calm but firm, carrying just enough authority to remind her of her place. “This is a press conference. It’s not the time or place for personal grievances.”

Her eyes locked on mine, full of defiance, and for a moment, I wondered if she’d push back. But she didn’t. She shot me one last glare and walked away, her head held high.

I turned back to the reporters, schooling my expression into something neutral. “If there are no further questions, this concludes today’s briefing.”

They hesitated, their curiosity piqued by the interruption, but I didn’t give them a chance to linger. I walked out of the room, my mind already turning to the girl who had dared to challenge me.

Lucia Castellano. This was going to be interesting.