CHAPTER THREE

DANTE.

The dim light coming from the overhead chandelier flickered a little as I leaned over the huge oak table in the strategy room. My finger drew a thin line on the map, my voice measured but commanding. Around me, my most trusted officials stood in silence, hanging onto my every word.

"This alley here," I said, pointing with a gloved hand, "is where they'll expect us to strike. Marcus, I need your team to—"

The doors creaked open. A man hurried in, his face pale, his lips pressed into a line. He moved to my side and leaned in to whisper.

I stiffened, my dark brows knitting together. "What?" My voice was barely above a growl.

The man hesitated, then repeated the message in a low, trembling tone. I inhaled sharply.

The tension in the room spiked. My jaw tightened, my fingers curling into fists. I straightened slowly, towering over the table.

“We’ll pick this up later,” I said curtly. I shot Marcus a look. “Keep going over the logistics. I want a full plan by the time I return.”

Marcus nodded. “Understood.”

Without saying another word, I turned and strode out of the room, my body coiled with murderous energy, the messenger trailing at my heels.

---

The operations center was abuzz with activities, the hum of computers and the soft chatter of analysts creating a constant buzz. Walls lined with monitors displayed live feeds, data streams, and encrypted codes. Technicians darted between stations, their movements quick and efficient.

I stepped into the room, and all eyes were on me instantly. The chatter died down as people stole nervous glances at me. I ignored them, my focus locked on Jet, head of operations, who was hunched over a glowing console at the far end of the room.

"Jet," I barked as I approached.

Jet jumped, almost dropping his tablet. He turned, his face pale under the fluorescent lights. "Boss."

"What's going on?" I demanded.

Jet hesitated, then gestured to his screen. "Last night, at about 11 p.m., we noticed a breach in one of the Valaro vaults. Twenty thousand dollars was siphoned out in approximately five minutes."

My eyes narrowed. "Five minutes? And you didn't tell me immediately?"

"We've been working on tracing it, boss," Jet hastened to say. "The breach was clean, precise. Whoever did this covered their tracks almost perfectly. It's taken us this long just to figure out it happened."

My jaw clenched and my voice dropped to a dangerously low octave. "You're telling me the system I paid billions to create—the system that was supposed to be impenetrable—was hacked?"

Jet swallowed hard. "Yes, but—"

"But?!" I slammed a fist onto the console, making Jet flinch. "You're supposed to be the best, Jet. I didn't hire you to give me excuses."

Jet nodded quickly. "I understand, boss. We're working on it. The hacker is. exceptional. They've left almost no trace. But we'll find them."

"You'd better." My voice was ice, the threat evident. "I want results. Name, face, location. I don't care what it takes or who you have to bring in. Find them."

"Yes, boss."

I turned sharply and strode out, leaving the room buzzing with tension.

---

Days crawled by, and the frustration inside me became palpable. The hacker had left no trace, and the team was running out of leads. My temper flared often, and my men treaded extra carefully around me.

That afternoon, I sat in my sleek office, going over a shipment report with Marcus, when Jet burst in unannounced, clutching a thick folder.

"We found them," Jet said breathlessly.

My head snapped up, my gaze locking onto Jet. "About time."

Jet strode up to the desk and held out the folder. "Her name is Siara Movark. Twenty-four years old. Lives in downtown Seattle.

I opened the folder, my eyes running across the contents. The first thing I saw was the photograph of a young woman with striking emerald-green eyes and cascading brown hair. She had that haunting expression of a survivor in her eyes yet a quiet strength that emanated from the way she carried herself, an assured defiance.

Jet continued, his tone almost admiring. “She’s a genius, boss. Started fiddling around with a computer when she was just a kid. Small jobs at first, but she’s been building her skills for years, and had a backstreet mentor who died off pretty early. The rest was self-taught. She’s one of the best I’ve ever seen. The breach she pulled off with Valaro? Literally on the spot. It’s a masterpiece. She—”

"Stop." My voice came out cold and cutting.

Jet clamped his mouth shut, looking chastened.

I continued to stare at the photo, some sort of weird sensation stirring my chest. There was something about her that seemed familiar, yet. not.

"What else do we know about her?" I asked, opening the folder.

"She's been careful," Jet said. "Lives with her dad. They're hard-core broke so she works lots of part-time jobs. Her mom is terminally ill. Has been like that for a few years now. We trailed her a bit more and found out the money she stole was deposited for her mom's hospital bills. Should we move in on her?"

I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned to my laptop and typed in the name Movark. A file popped up on the screen. My eyes scanned the document, and suddenly, I froze.

A slow, wolfish grin spread across my face as I read, followed by a low chuckle.

Jet frowned, glancing at Marcus, who looked equally confused.

“Boss?” Jet ventured cautiously.

I leaned back in my chair, chuckling softly. The sound grew louder, echoing through the office, then suddenly ceased.

The room fell into tense silence as my expression shifted, my eyes gleaming with the ruthless intent welling inside of me.

"These Movarks," I said, my tone dripping with dark amusement, "they just never give the Cavallaros a rest, do they?"

I turned to Marcus. "Put out full surveillance on Siara Movark. I want every detail of her life. No slip-ups."

Marcus nodded, his curiosity evident but unspoken. "Understood."

"And Jet, you're dismissed."

Jet and Marcus left, leaving me alone.

As the door closed, I leaned back in my chair, studying the photo of Siara once more. I tapped a finger against the edge of the folder, a predatory gleam in my eye.

"What a bloody good coincidence," I whispered to myself.

I reopened the folder and started reading through Siara Movark's file in detail. It was no longer about the money-no, it was personal. It was revenge.