Chapter 2 – Echoes of Blood
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Valemont City never slept. But it did forget.
The skyline loomed like a jagged mouth devouring the stars. Neon signs flickered like failing memories, and the streets pulsed with the slow rhythm of a city trying to pretend its sins weren't carved into its bones. But Dante Moretti remembered. The city had forgotten him. He had not returned the favor.
He stood still beneath the rusted arch of Southbridge, a lonely silhouette against the swirling mist above the East River. On the other side, the East End District stretched like a scar—a neighborhood reborn in corporate greed and quiet corruption. It had changed. Everything had.
Steel towers now rose where the neighborhood bakery once stood. The place his father built with his hands. The scent of flour and sweet cream, the warmth of ovens in winter, the chorus of laughter from Gia and their mother—that was all gone. Replaced by sleek storefronts and people who drank overpriced lattes while walking past ghosts.
He narrowed his eyes at the spot where the bakery used to be. He could almost hear the childish giggles of his sister again.
"Papa made me a cookie the size of my face!"
The memory made his fists clench. Ten years should've dulled the pain, but instead it had sharpened it, honed it into something surgical. Purposeful.
They hadn't just murdered his family.
They had erased them.
Now, he would make them remember—one scream at a time.
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Hunter in the Fog
Dante slipped off the bridge like a wraith, his black coat fluttering behind him in the wind. He moved through alleyways and back streets with a predator's ease, his footsteps silent even on wet concrete. Despite the years away, his body still remembered Valemont—its patterns, its pulse, its hidden corners. It was muscle memory, ingrained through years of survival.
Tonight's prey: Vincent Pike.
Ten years ago, Pike had been a low-level patrol cop—lazy, loud, and loyal to whoever stuffed his wallet. Back when Dante was framed, Pike had been the one spreading the rumors on the street: that Dante was talking to the Feds, that he'd turned on the family.
Dante hadn't understood then how deeply the betrayal had gone. But now, with perspective and distance, he saw the pattern. Pike was one of the early architects of his downfall. A chess piece Nico used to tip the board.
Now, Pike was Captain Pike, badge polished, suit tailored, still as dirty as ever.
Dante trailed him from a distance through downtown's wet streets. Pike exited the precinct around 10:30 PM, strutting like he owned the city. He stopped at Bar Caruso, a dim-lit haunt filled with retired cops and arrogant rookies, and ordered his usual bourbon. Dante didn't go in. He waited across the street, perched on a rooftop, eyes locked on his target through a cracked window.
He waited for an hour.
Then two.
Finally, Pike left the bar, laughing and slapping some young officer on the back before stumbling into the fog toward the parking garage.
Dante followed.
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The Reckoning
It happened in seconds.
As Pike unlocked his car, a sharp blow struck the base of his skull. He dropped with a grunt, his face smashing into the cold pavement. Before he could scream, Dante grabbed him by the collar and dragged him behind a nearby dumpster. The alley reeked of rot and piss, but Dante didn't care.
Pike blinked through the daze, groaning.
Then he saw the face.
"D… Dante?"
Dante crouched low, voice quiet. "You remember me."
Pike's eyes went wide with panic. "You're—no, you're supposed to be—Jesus, you're dead."
"Guess Jesus lied."
He punched Pike once, square in the jaw. Not hard enough to break bone—just enough to shatter the illusion of control.
Pike spit blood, trembling. "Look, man, I didn't know! I was just—"
Dante shoved a folded photo into his face. It was a picture of Dante's family. The last one taken before they died. Gia's face smiled in the corner.
"You spread the lie that killed them."
"I—I was ordered to!"
"By who?"
Pike hesitated. Wrong move.
Dante grabbed his hand and twisted it back until the cartilage popped.
"Try again."
"Okay! Okay! It was Nico! Verratti told me to. Said we had to turn the tide of loyalty. Make the street think you flipped. That your old man was a rat."
"Was he?"
Pike blinked. "What?"
"My father. Was he actually talking to the feds?"
"No! It was bullshit, man. Just a story. Nico needed to cut you loose. Said you were getting too strong, too close to the council. You were a threat."
Dante stared at him. "So you became the mouthpiece."
"I—I didn't think they'd kill your family!"
Dante stood up. The alley was quiet except for the hum of a distant generator.
"You just thought they'd kill me."
Pike whimpered. "Please… don't kill me…"
Dante didn't. Not yet.
"You're going to deliver a message for me," he said coldly.
Pike looked up, broken and afraid.
"What message?"
Dante leaned in. "Tell Nico the past he buried just dug itself out of the grave."
Then he vanished into the fog.
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Across the City – Aria's Search
Aria Caldwell sat at the edge of her twin bed, laptop balanced on her knees, fingers flying across the keyboard. The hum of her small dorm room fan blended with the soft clicks of her mouse. It was past midnight, and while most of her classmates were sleeping or partying, she was chasing shadows.
She had entered keywords like:
"man saves woman alley Valemont"
"vigilante in South District"
"leather coat attacker escape"
Nothing came up that matched what she saw.
Her roommate, Jess, rolled over in the other bed. "You're obsessed."
Aria didn't look up. "I'm curious."
"He saved you. Great. Hero moment. But he's clearly got problems. That guy looked like he broke ribs for breakfast."
"I'm not saying he's normal," Aria replied. "I'm saying he's... haunted. And I want to know why."
She minimized the search engine and pulled out her journal. In neat handwriting, she scribbled:
> He moves like someone who's been through hell. But there's something in his eyes—anger, yes. But also pain. Whoever he is... he didn't just save me. He scares me. But I'm more scared of what he's hiding.
She closed the journal slowly.
She would find him again. She had to.
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Old Shadows and New Names
Back in the safehouse, Dante stripped off his coat, muscles aching. The place was a former drug stash den tucked behind an old laundromat. Now it was his base—barebones but functional. A map of Valemont was pinned to the wall with red markers in several locations. Every name on his hit list was written in ink.
Pike had given him three.
Carmen Sorrento — financial fixer, laundered money through city contracts.
Tony Grecco — the one who provided weapons the night of the massacre.
Ivan "The Lock" Marovich — Nico's private enforcer and Dante's former sparring partner.
Dante's jaw clenched as he stared at the names.
One at a time.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey and pulled out the tattered photo of Gia. He touched her face gently.
"I'm not done."
His phone buzzed.
A burner line.
He picked up.
A distorted voice: "Heard you were back. You always did like making noise."
Dante didn't reply.
"You want revenge?" the voice continued. "You'll need help. You can't do this alone."
"Who is this?"
"Someone with a score to settle too. I'll be in touch."
The line went dead.
Dante stared at the phone, thoughtful.
Enemies were watching. But maybe—just maybe—so were allies.
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Chapter End Hook
Later that night, Nico Verratti stood in his penthouse apartment, shirtless, cigarette burning in one hand. The city lights twinkled behind him. His consigliere entered.
"You were right," the man said. "Dante's alive."
Nico didn't flinch. He blew a slow stream of smoke and smirked.
"Then let him come."
He flicked ash into a crystal tray.
"He wants a war?"
He smiled coldly.
"Let's give him one."
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