Dante eyed the double doors, eyeing the golden frames of the opening and exhaling a sharp breath. His hands were tightened into fists, not an ounce of fear roaming his blood. All he felt was pure pain, vengeance, and he was not in the mood of being scolded. That was why he stormed inside his father's meeting room.
As expected, Draco was seated at his throne, with his golden armour on and his loaded weapon to his side. However, what he didn't expect was the swarm of hands that reached for him and instantly restrained him to the floor before he even had a chance to speak. He grunted, shocked by how much strength six men used in order to pin him without considering that they may all be crushing his ribs.
Draco's lip was curled, a look of disgust crossing his face before he directed his workers to pull Dante up onto his feet. When that was done, he noticed the blood leaking from the bottom of Dante's chin, a scratch from how hard he hit the ground. But he had not intent to be empathetic for their meeting; he had lost too much for that.
"You better tell your men to get their filthy palms off me," Dante growled, glaring at all of them over his shoulder. "Do you all know who the fuck I am?"
"Shut up, Dante."
His father's tone had been deep and dark, which even though Dante didn't want to admit it, it did send shivers along his spine. That was the very first moment he wasn't sure whether his father would kill him or not. After a hard swallow, he exhaled another breath before meeting his father's narrowed gaze, seeing the contemplation in his eyes, as if he was deciding at that very moment of Dante should be killed.
Draco scratched his jaw, his fingers mindlessly straightening his long beard. The silence that reigned over the room was enough to make his entire team sweat, uncertain if they would be killed for restraining Dante, even though they had been assigned to do so.
After a few minutes, Dante's patience had reached its limit. "I don't have all day, I need to go to see how Nate is doing." Draco scoffed and shook his head, as if that comment left a bad taste in his mouth, which prompted Dante to add harshly, "What? What's wrong with that?"
Draco lowered his gaze, staring at the shotgun at his side. "Not only did I lose one of my most loyal soldiers, but I lost a daughter..." He paused for a moment, the memory of Molly's body crossing his mind before a snort escaped his lips. "For a disabled high school brat."
"Just because he doesn't mean anything to yo—"
"All because of you." He didn't let Dante finish his sentence, nor did he care of what he had to say. The blame was direct and harsh, without any trace of remorse as he leaned forward in his seat. And when he said that, his eyes widened and his gaze deepened, as if his sight could penetrate through Dante's brain and read his thoughts.
Dante swallowed hard; hearing the shaky breaths of the men around him did not help. They were all frightened of Draco, and even though he wasn't, he definitely understood why they did in that very moment.
Draco's eyebrows raised as his mind replayed the events at the club. "And the whole time, you were stuck on the stage, as if you have never seen such atrocities before."
Dante furrowed his brows. "Dad, he was—"
He slammed his foot against the floor, causing it to tremble as his loud robust tone echoed, "QUIET!" His men flinched at his voice, as if the vibrations had hurt their ears from how strong they had been; they even felt a breeze past over their shoulders. Draco's presence was way too fearing that Dante felt a few grips from the men loosen.
As if that was not enough, Draco pushed himself to his feet, and all their necks had to tilt even further backwards just to be able to look at his face. A couple of them didn't even dare to look in his eyes, keeping their gaze locked to the floor. Each of his steps made the ground tremble very slightly but enough for them to feel, and he halted only a couple centimetres away before he leaned downwards, hovering above his son.
YOU ARE READING
The Submissive Assassin (BxB)
Romance''After a few seconds of them staring at one another, Dante finally spoke. But his voice had changed; it was breathless and soft, echoing with a sweetness that Nate could have never imagined existed within him. With the knife left on his palm for Na...
