Chapter 4 Fake Limbs and Real Guns

I awakened to the steady beep of medical equipment, momentarily panicking at the familiar sound. My hand instinctively went to my abdomen, finding it heavily bandaged.

"The baby's fine," came Dante's voice from somewhere to my left. "Miracle, considering you took a bullet meant for me."

I turned my head, wincing at the stiffness in my neck. Dante sat in a leather armchair, looking exhausted but alert. We were in what appeared to be a luxurious bedroom converted into a medical suite. Definitely not a hospital.

"Where are we?" My voice came out as a rasp.

"Safe house. My safe house." He stood, approaching with a glass of water. "Doctor says you need to stay flat for at least a week. Bullet missed anything vital, but you lost a lot of blood."

I accepted the water, our fingers brushing during the exchange. "The baby?"

"Heartbeat's strong. Doctor says twelve weeks, give or take." His expression was unreadable. "Were you planning to tell me?"

"Eventually. When it served my purpose."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "And what purpose would that be?"

"Originally? Leverage." I took another sip of water. "Things got... complicated."

"You could say that." He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb my bandages. "We need to talk about what happened at the shipyard. About Marina."

Pain that had nothing to do with my wound flared in my chest. "They killed her."

"Yes." His voice was surprisingly gentle. "But Antonio Barzini was lying about one thing. Carlo didn't give her to them. I've been investigating for months—Carlo was skimming from both families. Marina discovered it, and he panicked."

"So he killed her himself?"

Dante shook his head. "He sold her to Barzini to save his own skin. When I found out he was a traitor, I didn't know about Marina. I just knew he was feeding information to the Barzinis."

"And you killed him for it."

"I did." No remorse, no hesitation. "Would have made it slower if I'd known about your sister."

I closed my eyes, processing this information. My quest for vengeance had been aimed at the wrong target. Dante hadn't ordered Marina's death; he'd unknowingly avenged it.

"How long have I been unconscious?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Three days."

My eyes snapped open. "Three days? We need to move. The Barzinis—"

"—think you're dead," he finished. "The warehouse caught fire after we left. They found a body approximately your size and build. Dental records will be inconclusive."

I narrowed my eyes. "Convenient fire."

"I'm nothing if not thorough." His smile was cold. "As for the Barzinis, they're preparing for war. My apparent resurrection from the dead has them scrambling."

"Your men know you're alive now?"

"Only those I trust absolutely. To everyone else, Dante Moretti is still recovering from injuries sustained in the warehouse fire." He gestured to the room around us. "This place is known only to me. Not even my father knew about it."

I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, and grimaced as pain shot through my side. Dante immediately adjusted pillows behind me with surprising gentleness.

"I had your prosthetic cleaned and serviced," he said, nodding toward where my artificial limb stood in a corner. "Impressive weaponry. The cyanide vials were leaking, though. Had to dispose of them."

"You went through my leg?" I couldn't decide if I was impressed or violated.

"Professional curiosity. The craftsmanship is exceptional."

"It should be. Cost me a small fortune."

A hint of a genuine smile touched his lips. "Worth every penny, I'd say. Three kills with that wire mechanism at the shipyard."

Despite myself, I felt a flush of pride. Then reality crashed back. "What's our next move? The Barzinis know about Marina now. They know I was looking for her."

"Our next move is getting you healed," Dante said firmly. "Then we plan our response carefully. Victor Barzini has connections throughout the city. We can't just storm his compound."

"I've been planning his death for over a year. I have detailed files—"

"Which we'll review when you're stronger." His tone brooked no argument.

We were interrupted by a knock at the door. Dante's hand went immediately to his weapon before a voice called out, "It's me, boss."

Dante relaxed marginally. "Enter."

A man I recognized as Gabriel, Dante's most trusted lieutenant, stepped in carrying a garment bag. His eyes widened slightly at seeing me awake, but he quickly composed himself.

"Everything's arranged for tomorrow," he reported, hanging the bag on a hook near the closet. "Eleven AM at St. Anthony's."

Dante nodded. "Any complications?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle. Father Moretti sends his regards." Gabriel glanced at me again. "Should I postpone, given..."

"No. We proceed as planned." Dante dismissed him with a gesture, and Gabriel departed after a respectful nod.

"What's happening tomorrow?" I asked.

"A funeral."

"Whose?"

"Mine." Dante's smile was predatory. "Well, officially it's for an associate who died in the warehouse fire. But the Barzinis will assume it's for me, being held in secret to avoid public attention."

"It's a trap," I realized.

"It's an opportunity," he corrected. "Victor Barzini will send representatives to confirm my death. When they report back that I'm very much alive..."

"Chaos," I finished. "But I should be there."

"Absolutely not. You need to heal."

I struggled to sit up straighter. "This is my fight too. They killed Marina."

"And nearly killed you and—" He stopped, his eyes dropping to my bandaged abdomen.

The unspoken word hung between us. Our child. A complication neither of us had anticipated when this deadly dance began.

"I'll be there," I stated, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Even if I have to drag myself there bleeding."

Dante studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a genuine sound that transformed his face.

"You know, when I first realized you were poisoning me, I admired your determination," he said. "Now I'm starting to think you're just plain stubborn."

"Says the man who pretended to be in a coma for six months."

"Touché." His smile faded. "Fine. You can attend. But you'll stay in the car unless absolutely necessary."

I didn't bother agreeing to terms we both knew I wouldn't keep.

The next morning, Gabriel helped me dress in a conservative black dress that concealed both my bandages and my prosthetic. Dante entered as I was securing my leg, a small arsenal of weapons hidden within its customized compartments.

He was dressed in an impeccable black suit, his hair slicked back, looking every inch the mafia don attending a solemn occasion. The transformation from hospital patient to commanding presence was complete.

"Ready?" he asked, offering his arm for support.

St. Anthony's was an old cathedral in the Italian district, its stone walls steeped in a century of confessions and funeral masses. We arrived through a side entrance, Dante supporting me as I limped along. The pain medication made me slightly dizzy, but I refused to show weakness.

The church was filled with somber-faced men I recognized as Moretti associates. Near the front, an ornate closed casket held the supposed remains of Dante Moretti. Flowers cascaded around it—red roses, white lilies, and black dahlias that I suspected were a personal touch from Dante himself.

We remained in a small antechamber, watching through a one-way mirror as mourners filed in. Gabriel quietly identified Barzini's representatives—two senior lieutenants seated discreetly in the back.

The funeral proceeded with appropriate gravity. A priest who was clearly on Dante's payroll delivered a eulogy vague enough to apply to anyone while highlighting the "deceased's" power and influence. Then came the moment for the family's final farewell.

Dante squeezed my hand. "Showtime."

He slipped out, positioning himself behind a pillar near the casket as Gabriel approached the microphone to deliver a personal tribute. I watched from the antechamber, my prosthetic leg already adjusted for quick access to its hidden weapons.

"Dante Moretti was more than my boss," Gabriel began, his voice carrying through the cathedral. "He was my friend, my brother in all but blood. His enemies called him the Reaper, but to us, he was simply—"

A commotion at the back of the church interrupted him. One of Barzini's men was speaking urgently into a phone, his face pale. The second man stood, drawing attention with his sudden movement.

Gabriel paused, then continued with a slight smile, "—he was simply impossible to kill."

On cue, Dante stepped out from behind the pillar, very much alive and smiling coldly at the Barzini representatives. The church erupted in controlled chaos—Moretti men drawing weapons while blocking exits, Barzini's people realizing too late they were trapped.

I emerged from the antechamber, ignoring the pain in my side as I approached one of Barzini's men who was frantically trying to reach another exit. My prosthetic made a nearly imperceptible clicking sound as I released one of its mechanisms—a thin, flexible wire perfect for strangulation.

The man turned just as I reached him, recognition and fear flashing across his face. "You—you're supposed to be dead!"

"Disappointed?" I asked, before the wire shot out, wrapping around his neck with mechanical precision.

As he clawed desperately at the constricting metal, I leaned close to whisper, "That's for Marina Rossi."

A final twist, and he collapsed to the ground. When I looked up, Dante was watching me from across the church, something like admiration in his eyes as he dealt with the other Barzini representative.

Later, as we stood beside the empty casket while Dante's men disposed of the bodies, he turned to me with a strange expression.

"That wire mechanism in your leg—it's remarkable engineering."

"Thank you," I said, slightly puzzled by his focus on technical details after what we'd just done.

"The woman who created it for me called it a wedding gift. Said it would last longer than most marriages." I ran my hand along my prosthetic thoughtfully. "I never expected to use it at an actual funeral."

Dante's lips curved into a smile that was equal parts dangerous and admiring. "I'm beginning to think I should propose just to see what other deadly surprises you might come up with."

I laughed despite the pain in my side, despite the blood still cooling on the cathedral floor. "Ask me again when I'm not bleeding through my dress."

His eyes darkened as he noticed the spreading stain at my waist. Without warning, he lifted me into his arms.

"Gabriel," he called, "finish here. The Barzinis will have their answer soon enough."

As he carried me from the church, the scent of funeral flowers and gunpowder lingering around us, I realized something unsettling. In Dante's arms, with his child growing inside me and my sister's killers in our sights, I felt something dangerously close to belonging.

The Viper and the Reaper—what a terrifying combination we made.