After the seductive primadonna murders the young bride of an infamous crime lord, a calamitous war rages between both adversaries and endangers all of England. Knightsbane, a secret group of genius S rank detectives with special abilities must preve...
Don Di Mercurio Montovani wore an incriminating stern face. His eyes squinted, tormented by the dimly bright spotlight that showered its illuminating rays on him, so incessantly. The room was shrouded in infinite darkness, a bewildering force of evil that seemed to empower the begrudged Sicilian ceased the watchtower. The silver haired crime lord was glaring at the gigantic wall sized screen of the master computer, a faint image was pulsing in a sedative blue halo, defining his silhouette. Di Mercurio fiddled with his crucifix and then chewed on it, a silly habit, ritualized over the decades.
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"What could I possibly have to offer?" a deep huskily robotic voice vibrated the room. The Don was talking with the anonymous image on screen. "Oh yes, this old Sicilian asks you," the Don croaked. "What instrument of inestimable value could you possibly have to offer that could seduce me into handing half my possession over to you?" "Hmm. You see, Don Montovani, trade is inevitable...one of the old gods of man. Ever since those brutish years of the early men, trade was an essential part of their evolution. Trade by barter...I mean. How difficult could you make this any longer?" "You're the one who's making things more difficult. You see, some negotiations are...unbalanced, unequal. Take for instance, A trades his vehicle for B's bicycle. I won't call that trade...that's exploitation. But what truly matters is what the heart desires, what the mind judges as... 'precious'. You see, preferences differ, perspectives vary, according to one's taste. Sometimes, A's vehicle is of no worth to he, himself and yet...he's desperately in need of B's bicycle, which B needs no more. In this perspective, A has actually exploited B. He's traded something he doesn't need for something his heart truly desires. And so I ask you again, what could you possibly have that my heart desires?" "Hahaha. Don Montovani... There is nothing you love. You heart desires nothing. Nothing is precious to you. Ever since the tragic loss of your beloved son, Nero, a cloud of darkness infiltrated your heart. But then you met Valeria. And everything changed. Every wild emotion was channelled to her, your love was diverted. But then she kicked the bucket. Oh, the rage. Oh the irresistible power of anger, the overwhelming magnificence of rage, of fury. Behold such desperation that plagues the mind to insanity. That brings nations down with the mere snap of one's fingers. Vengeance...sweet vengeance. Oh yes, vengeance...it is your heart's desire. It is 'precious', isn't it? You want her dead, you want her dynasty erased, the Primadonna." There was a stilling evil brewing within the walls. This faceless shadow was stirring up the vilest emotions in the bitter heart of Don Montovani. "I see, you have done your research," the Don murmured, impressed yet calm. "I have, Don Montovani. Vengeance is the one true god! We shall ally ourselves, against a common enemy, against the butterfly duchess. You shall deliver half the western crime ring into my hands, your domain as a price for my gift. "You are not content with the spoils of war? You have already claimed the Eastern crime ring in Isadora's absence. You rule one third of London. Just how greedy could you get?" "What I have is nothing compared to yours, as what you possess is nothing compared to the information I have for you." "And what could that be?" Don Montovani chewed on his crucifix. "The Primadonna's location." There existed only but a few, who could make the Don feel the inkling of a threat, and so he gasped, hearing her name. It couldn't be possible, he thought. No one knew where she was hiding. His eyes spread wide, tiny red arteries ran across like roots. He sighed to calm his pulsing heart. "You know her location?" "Dear Montovani...I'm not one to blab. Do we have a deal? The Primadonna's location...for half of your kingdom." The Don felt the blood in his veins race; his blood pressure escalated. This faceless man was right, he desired nothing more than to taste the warm blood of Isadora Cavendish. The deal was much too seductive, more tempting than the Eve's apple or the devil's bread. His head ached when he said, "Once, you were allied with the Primadonna. But now, you aid her enemies seek her head. What are the chances you won't betray me in the nearest future?" "10%, Don Montovani. I only seek the fruit that makes me stronger, regardless of who's blood I have to spill in the process." "As do I. The minstrels shall sing songs of this deadly alliance. The poets shall herald this undeniable force...the Syndicate of Inferno they shall call this. And the world shall bow at our power, our irresistible force." The devious chuckles of both men echoed in the darkness. A new power had arisen, a fatal alliance, the "Syndicate of Inferno". Just then, there was a knock at the door. The don shivered as a petty thief does at the slightest sounds. "Who's it?" "Father, it is I, Caruso. Knightsbane...requires your presence. They are here, in these very walls." "Tell them I shall be with them shortly."
