Dante didn’t have the time for distraction.

The air around him was dense with tension, the acrid scent of gunpowder from earlier lingering in his nostrils.

He stood in the dimly lit basement of one of his interrogation sites, the stark fluorescence flickering above like a heartbeat.

A man slumped lifelessly in the chair across from him, his lips tinged with the sickly green of the poison he had chosen over the betrayal.

Dante’s fists clenched at his sides, veins pulsing against his skin. Every death was a dead-end trail, leading to the same maddening question.

Who the fuck was trying to take over his territory?

The bastard had stayed...