Chapter 4 - The Tectonic Shift
The next morning, Viktor Cole entered the study at precisely 8:00 AM, carrying the silver tray with the morning coffee and the capsule container. His suit was immaculate, his demeanor professional, but his eyes darted around the room with an imperceptible wariness.
"Good morning, Boss," Viktor said, setting the tray down on the mahogany desk. "Your morning supplements, right on schedule."
Dante sat in his wheelchair, his hands resting calmly on the armrests. He looked at the blue and white capsules—the very things that had kept him bound to this chair for three agonizing years.
"Viktor," Dante said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.
"Yes, Boss?"
"How long have you and Marcus been planning to hand the western shipping lanes over to the Syndicate of New York?"
Viktor’s expression didn't shatter immediately; professionals of his caliber didn't panic easily. But a microscopic twitch in his left cheek gave him away. He forced a tight, dismissive laugh. "Boss, what are you talking about? You've been spending too much time alone in this study."
"Have I?" Dante slowly pushed himself forward in his wheelchair.
Before Viktor could reach for the concealed firearm inside his blazer, Dante lunged upward.
Using the sudden, explosive strength of his upper body combined with a desperate, white-hot surge of nervous energy in his hips, Dante stood. His legs shook violently, the atrophied muscles screaming in protest, but they held. He stood towering over Viktor, his massive frame blocking the doorway, his eyes burning with an unholy fury.
Viktor staggered backward, his face draining of all color as if he were staring at a risen corpse. "That's... that's impossible! The scans said—"
"The scans were bought," Dante growled, closing the distance between them with a heavy, dragging stride. "Just like the doctor. Just like you."
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Before Viktor could draw his weapon, Dante delivered a brutal, crushing right hook that caught his chief of security squarely on the jaw, sending Viktor crashing unconscious into the mahogany bookshelf.
Dante stood over him, breathing heavily, sweat beading across his forehead. His legs were shaking like dry twigs, but they were standing. He had broken the spell. He had stepped out of the grave.
