Page 8 of The Dante (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #1)

THE STUDY smelled of leather, aged whiskey, and power.

The morning-after brunch had ended, but for the Dantes, the real business was just beginning.

Titus leaned back in the massive leather chair at the head of the room, rolling the heavy crystal tumbler between his fingers, the amber liquid catching the light.

Cade and Zane sat across from him, both watchful.

They weren’t relaxed, not really. The Dantes neverwere.

Titus spoke first, his voice smooth but edged with iron. “We move fast. No loose ends.”

Zane crossed to the bar to pour himself a drink, the steady clink of glass against crystal filling the quiet tension in the room. He studied the amber liquid for a moment before lifting his gaze. “And if he doesn’t cooperate?”

Titus didn’t blink. His fingers drummed once against the arm of his chair, measured, precise. “Then we make sure he doesn’t get a choice.”

Cade let out a low chuckle, tipping his glass in a slow, deliberate swirl. “Every man reaches a crossroads. Some recognize it in time, others convince themselves they have options when the road has already run out.”

Zane leaned against the bar, his posture deceptively relaxed, but his eyes were keen. “And if he fights back?”

Titus set his glass down with a quiet clink , the sound deliberate, final. “Then he learns the hard way what happens when you cross us.”

The words hung in the air, weighty, carrying the promise of consequence. The firelight flickered across the polished wood, throwing shadows against the deep mahogany walls, wrapping the room in a kind of slow-burning intensity that none of them acknowledged outright.

Zane took a slow sip of his drink, his voice carrying an edge of finality. “I’d rather not waste time teaching another lesson. The last one left a mess.”

Cade arched a brow, setting his drink down with a soft thud. “Messy, but effective. The important thing is that people remember it. Fear has a long shelf life.”

Titus’s gaze flicked between his brothers, his expression unreadable. Then, he leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but absolute. “We’re not here to waste time. We’re here to end this game on our terms. He either steps aside, or we make sure he’s removed from the board.”

A throat cleared from the doorway.

Sam Mirabella stood there, half-shadowed, his expression fixed into something careful. Like a gambler holding a bad hand but hoping to bluff his way through the final round. His gaze flicked over the three men, assessing them, deciding if he should stay orbolt.

“Interesting conversation,” he said lightly. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Cade was the first to move, easy and smooth as ever. “Sam.” His voice carried all warmth and welcome. “We were just discussing something you might find interesting.”

Sam hesitated. “That so?”

Zane gestured toward an empty seat. “Come in. Have a drink.”

Titus rose and motioned to the bar. “You like Macallan, don’t you?” He poured a glass of the thirty-year-old whiskey without waiting for an answer and slid it across the polished wood in Sam’s direction. “Go on. You’re family now.”

That should’ve reassured Sam. It didn’t. If anything, it put him even more on edge. There was something about the way they watched him, like a cat watching a bird that hadn’t yet realized it was in the trap. It was the ease, the patience— they weren’t worried. And that worried him .

He picked up the glass and sat. There was no backing out now, no excuse that wouldn’t raise suspicion.

The weight of the glass tumbler helped stabilize him, and he took a slow, careful sip.

The whiskey burned smooth down his throat, rich and expensive—like everything the Dantes touched.

He knew better than to refuse hospitality from a Dante.

More than that, he knew better than to showfear.

He set the glass down lightly on the side table by his chair, keeping his expression neutral, but his mind raced. Had they seen him before he entered? Had they meant for him to overhear? Or was he just another player at a table where the stakes were far higher than he could afford?

Titus leaned forward slightly, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. He let the silence stretch just long enough for discomfort to creep in, watching Sam’s reaction with quiet intensity.

He finally spoke, his voice easy, measured, carrying the depth of unspoken history.

“We look after our own, Sam. Always have, always will. That’s the way it’s always been.

” He let the words settle, watching for the reaction.

“Loyalty is earned, and once you have it, it means something. But betrayal… well, that tends to have consequences.”

Sam’s fingers flexed around his tumbler, his grip just a little too tight. Abead of sweat traced a slow path at his temple, though he masked it well. He swallowed, the sound audible in the heavy silence of theroom.

Cade leaned against the table, flashing an easy grin. “And now that you’re sitting at our table, things tend to shift. Expectations, responsibilities... they all start looking a little different.”

Sam’s fingers twitched around his glass. “How so?”

Zane lifted his own drink. “Family stands together, no matter what. That’s the only rule that matters.”

Titus watched Sam closely, reading the subtle tells of a man trying too hard to appear unfazed. The rigid posture, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, the slight twitch of his fingers against the glass—it all spoke of someone balancing between forced composure and mounting unease.

Sam had heard something, that much was clear. The way his eyes darted, analyzed, trying to gauge if he was in danger or if he had a way out—it was the look of a gambler analyzing the odds, searching for the safebet.

Titus allowed the silence to stretch, letting the significance of the moment press in.

Then, deliberately, he reached for his own glass, taking a slow sip before setting it back down with an almost imperceptible nod.

He glanced at his palm, at the smudge of darkness that rode the center, and fisted his hand so the others wouldn’t see.

The question wasn’t just how much Sam had overheard—it was whether he understood exactly what he was playingwith.

Titus leaned back, giving nothing away. “Loyalty is simple, Sam. Either you have it, or you don’t.”

Silence settled, thick and loaded.

Sam took another sip of whiskey, rolling the liquid over his tongue, as if trying to buy himself time. His mind was working—Titus could see it in the way his fingers drummed lightly on the glass, in the slight tightening of his jaw. He was deciding how much to push, how much to probe.

“And if someone isn’t loyal?” Sam asked, voice carefully neutral, though the tension in his grip betrayed him. His fingers curled a little too tightly around the tumbler, the whiskey inside sloshing just slightly.

Zane leaned forward, his stare like a blade, slicing through the space between them. “Then they don’t belong here.”

The intensity of those words settled between them, thick and unyielding. The air in the study seemed to press inward, making the room feel smaller, more suffocating. Sam swallowed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the invisible hand tightening around his throat.

Cade, ever the one to defuse concern with charm, let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s not get too dramatic. We’ve got a timeline to keep. And drama? Well, that tends to slow things down.”

Sam’s grip on his drink tightened even further. He forced a thin smile, lifting the glass toward his lips but hesitating for just a beat too long before he drank. “Right. Atimeline.”

Titus’s gaze never wavered. “That’s right,” he murmured, the certainty in his voice leaving no room for question. “And no room for delays.”

For a long moment, nothing else was said. Then Sam set his glass down carefully, nodded once, and stood. “Well. Glad to be part of the family.”

Titus didn’t rise. He simply held Sam’s gaze, watching, waiting. “We’ll be in touch.”

Sam left, his footsteps measured, but his pulse hammering beneath hisskin.

The door clicked shut. Silence stretched for a beat before Cade shook his head. “How much do you think he actually heard?”

Zane swirled his drink. “Enough to make himself dangerous.”

Cade tilted his head slightly, aknowing gleam in his eyes. “Think he’s running straight to the Feds?”

Zane let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment before Cade cleared his throat, aquiet amusement in his expression. Then, as if on cue, all three of them let out short, dark laughs—quiet and laced with something that wasn’t quite humor.

Titus lifted his glass to his lips. “It doesn’t matter how much he knows.” He took a slow sip, savoring the flavor of it. Then he set the glass down and murmured again, “We have a timeline to keep.”

Zane leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily. “Think he’ll try to warn Jazz?”

Cade grinned. “If he’s smart, he will. But we both know Sam isn’t smart enough. He’s just desperate.”

Titus didn’t respond immediately. He simply studied the door where Sam had exited, his expression unreadable. Along pause stretched between them, the authority of unspoken understanding heavy in theair. He glanced at his palm again.

“He’s family now, which is going to be a problem.”

Zane shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly against his glass, waiting. Cade leaned back, one brow lifting as if considering a privatejoke.

Finally, Titus leaned forward, pressing his fingertips together. His voice was steady, deliberate. “Let him think he’s in charge. Let him believe he’s winning.”

Zane grinned, slow and knowing. “He won’t see it coming.”

Cade’s lips quirked, his amusement barely concealed. “That’s the best part.”

Zane lifted an eyebrow. “And when he realizes he hasn’t?”