Dominic Valente had spent many years meticulously planning his exit from the criminal underworld. He had discarded his former identity as The Hawk, abandoned the ruthless empire he had established, and adopted the name Antonio Leoni—a man without a past, without connections, just another figure in the realm of legitimate business.
Or so he believed.
Despite his efforts, the past never truly released its grip on him. It lingered in the background, always watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. That moment came one calm evening in Saint-Pierre-sur-Mer when a specter from his past emerged from the shadows.
His name was Marcello Russo.
And he brought with him an offer that Dominic couldn't refuse.
A Ghost from the Old World
Marcello Russo was a man who existed in the gray areas between light and darkness. He wasn't a soldier nor a boss; he was something entirely different—a fixer. A person who flourished in the murky depths of organized crime without ever fully immersing himself. He made deals, erased records, and resolved issues.
To those familiar with him, Marcello was an enigma.
To Dominic, he was a necessary evil.
Their relationship was forged from strategic necessity rather than trust. Years ago, when Dominic was expanding his territory, it was Marcello who tied up loose ends, facilitating transactions that no one else could manage. He moved stealthily through the recesses of the criminal world, his influence spreading wider than most realized.
But unlike others in that world, Marcello sought no power. He had no desire to control an empire; he simply wanted to stay useful enough to be essential.
And now, he had shown up, uninvited, at Dominic's door.
The Meeting
It was a warm evening, one where the sea breeze wafted the scents of salt and lavender through the peaceful streets of the village. Dominic had been sitting on his terrace, sipping a glass of wine when he spotted the figure at the gate of his secluded residence.
Marcello Russo.
For a fleeting moment, Dominic thought about ignoring him. He had no interest in reopening the chapters of his past. Yet, he knew Marcello well enough to realize that if he was here, it was not by chance.
With a resigned sigh, he rose and went down to meet him.
Marcello hadn't changed much. He was still the lean, sharp-eyed man Dominic remembered—dressed in a suit that appeared too expensive for someone claiming to have no legitimate income. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly styled, and a sly smile played on his lips as he assessed Dominic's appearance.
"Antonio Leoni," Marcello said, his voice as smooth as ever. "Or should I prefer The Hawk?"
Dominic's face remained unreadable. "I don't use that name anymore."
Marcello chuckled. "Oh, but you do. You always will. No matter how many vineyards you purchase or how many businesses you pretend to own." He gestured toward the villa behind Dominic. "Nice place, by the way. Peaceful. A bit too peaceful, wouldn't you agree?"
Dominic crossed his arms. "What do you want, Marcello?"
Marcello's grin faded, replaced by a more serious demeanor. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small envelope.
"I have a proposal," he said. "A way for you to finally cut all ties to the syndicate. For good."
Dominic didn't reach for the envelope. He simply observed Marcello, weighing his options.
"You must be quite desperate to come to me with an offer like that," he finally replied.
Marcello exhaled sharply, a subtle shake of his head revealing his frustration.
"Things have changed," he admitted. "Enzo is seizing power faster than anyone expected. Your absence has created a gap, and now the sharks are circling. If you don't act quickly, you won't have any say in what happens next."
Dominic's jaw clenched at the mention of Enzo Mancini—his former right-hand man, the person who had taken over the syndicate since Dominic's departure.
He had suspected Enzo wouldn't easily relinquish power. But if Marcello was approaching him, it meant the situation was worse than he realized.
"And what exactly are you offering?" Dominic inquired.
Marcello handed him the envelope.
"Inside are the details of a financial loophole in the syndicate's offshore accounts," he stated. "A method to sever their resources without them realizing it until it's too late. If you play your cards right, you can dismantle what remains of your empire—without firing a single shot."
Dominic didn't open the envelope.
Instead, he met Marcello's gaze with a piercing look.
"And why would you assist me?"
Marcello's smile turned into a semblance of one, void of humor.
"Because the syndicate is a sinking ship," he replied. "And I refuse to go down with it."
The Weight of the Past
Dominic turned the envelope over in his hands, feeling its heaviness.
For years, he had strived to distance himself from the life he had constructed. He had walked away, allowing Enzo to take charge, convincing himself that it was no longer his concern.
Yet deep inside, he had always recognized that as long as the syndicate persisted, true freedom eluded him.
He could change his name. He could reside in the quietest village in France.
But The Hawk would forever cast a shadow.
Dominic exhaled slowly and looked at Marcello.
"If I go through with this," he declared, "it must be permanent."
Marcello nodded. "That's the plan."
Dominic scrutinized him for a moment before slipping the envelope into his pocket.
"I'll think it over."
Marcello smirked. "Don't take too long."
He turned to leave, but before stepping away, he glanced back over his shoulder.
"Oh, and Dominic?"
Dominic raised an eyebrow.
Marcello's grin vanished.
"Someone else is searching for you," he stated. "And I don't believe they're coming to present you with an opportunity to escape."
Dominic felt a tightening in his chest.
"Who?"
Marcello hesitated before replying.
"Your sister."
The Unraveling Threads
The words struck Dominic like a blow to the stomach.
Clara.
He had dedicated years to keeping his distance, ensuring she stayed out of his world. He had convinced himself it was best—that as long as he maintained his distance, she would remain safe.
But now, she was looking for him.
Why?
Did she know who he really was? Did she suspect?
Or worse—had she already pieced everything together?
Dominic felt his heartbeat quicken.
If Clara was involved, this was no longer solely about the syndicate.
This was about family.
This was about justice.
This was about a reckoning long in the making.
Marcello watched him closely, seemingly assessing his reaction.
"I suggest you determine where your loyalties lie, Antonio," he advised. "Because sooner or later, the past is coming for you."
With that, he disappeared into the night, leaving Dominic alone with the burden of his choices.
A Decision That Cannot Be Undone
Dominic stood silently on the terrace for what felt like an eternity, gazing at the dim horizon.
Marcello had presented him with an opportunity—one last chance to cut ties and walk away for good.
But Clara…
If she was searching for him, things had already spiraled too far.
Dominic clenched his jaw.
The past was no longer just a distant shadow.
It was a present.
And he had to decide, once and for all, whether he would flee from it—
Or confront it directly.
Marcello Russo had always been a man of mysteries. Even during Dominic's rise to power within the syndicate, when their paths crossed often, Dominic never completely trusted him. Marcello was someone who never chose a side—his loyalty was solely to himself. He flourished in ambiguity, moving in and out of power dynamics, making himself vital to those in authority.
And now, here he was, claiming to provide Dominic with an escape.
But something felt off.
Marcello had arrived uninvited, infiltrating Dominic's carefully built new life with an offer that seemed almost too good to be true. The way he spoke, the deliberate choice of his words—it felt as if he were attempting to lead Dominic toward a specific choice.
And that was concerning.
Marcello never acted without motive.
Doubt Starts to Arise
The night following Marcello's visit, Dominic sat alone in his study, staring at the envelope that the fixer had handed him.
It seemed too simple. Too tidy.
Marcello had suggested that all Dominic needed to do was pull a few strings, take advantage of a financial loophole, and the syndicate would implode under its own weight.
But Dominic understood better.
Dismantling an organization like the one he had established wasn't merely about cutting off its finances. Enzo Mancini wasn't foolish. He would have backup plans, alternative revenue streams, and associates willing to kill to safeguard what belonged to them.
And then there was the foremost question—
Why would Marcello want this?
Why now?
Marcello had built his career on maintaining neutrality. He collaborated with Dominic when it was beneficial and then with Enzo after Dominic stepped away. Now, he had returned, acting as though he was offering Dominic redemption.
It didn't add up.
Dominic's instincts, honed by years of survival in a world where trust could be lethal, were shouting at him.
Marcello was concealing something.
A Game of Conversation
The following morning, Dominic sought out Marcello. He found him precisely where he expected—settled in a private lounge of a boutique hotel, sipping espresso as if the world around him had no worries.
Marcello glanced up as Dominic approached, a smirk already on his face.
"Antonio," he greeted smoothly, gesturing towards the seat opposite him. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."
Dominic remained standing. Instead, he placed the unopened envelope on the table.
"Tell me the truth," he said, his tone calm yet assertive. "Why are you genuinely here?"
Marcello sighed, setting down his cup with deliberate care. "You wound me, old friend. Have I ever given you cause to doubt me?"
Dominic's gaze was unwavering. "Every day since we first met."
Marcello chuckled, running a hand through his neatly styled hair. "Fair point."
A moment of silence hung between them. Then, Marcello leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"Alright," he said. "Let's be straightforward. Yes, I have my motivations for wanting you to accept this deal."
Dominic stayed still, waiting.
Marcello's smirk faded slightly, a rare crack in his usually composed demeanor.
"This isn't solely about you, Dominic," he conceded. "Enzo is creating enemies. Dangerous ones. He's advancing too aggressively, consolidating power without thinking about the long-term outcomes. He's upsetting the wrong people, and if he continues down this path, he will lead the entire syndicate into an unwinnable conflict."
Dominic frowned. "And?"
"And I don't want to be anywhere near that when it occurs," Marcello stated plainly. "You know me—I thrive by being aligned with the right side of history. And presently, history does not favor Enzo."
Dominic scrutinized him carefully.
Marcello was an expert manipulator, but there was a glimmer of truth in his words. Enzo had always operated more through brute force than subtlety. He got results, but he lacked the strategic vision that Dominic had once exhibited in building his empire. If Enzo was making rash decisions, it was only a matter of time before the syndicate splintered under the strain.
But still—
"You could leave," Dominic proposed. "Vanishing, like I did."
Marcello smiled, though there was a hardness to it.
"Oh, I could," he agreed. "But that's not my approach. I don't flee. I position myself." He tapped the envelope. "And this? This is my strategy for ensuring I remain stable when everything collapses."
A Hidden Motive
Dominic sat down, finally opening the envelope. He perused the documents inside, his keen mind processing the details.
The financial loophole Marcello had mentioned was indeed legitimate. If used correctly, it could effectively sever Enzo's cash flow, undermining the syndicate from within.
But there was something more—
A second set of accounts.
One that led straight to Marcello.
Dominic's jaw tightened.
"You're not merely trying to bring Enzo down," he asserted. "You're aiming to seize control."
Marcello didn't refute it. He merely tilted his head, as if waiting for Dominic to catch up.
"Enzo is a blunt instrument," Marcello explained. "And the syndicate is too valuable to entrust to someone like him. If he falls, someone else will take his spot. Wouldn't you prefer that it be someone who knows how to operate with a bit of… finesse?"
Dominic closed the envelope.
"You want me to help you become the new leader."
Marcello spread his hands. "I want you to help me ensure the syndicate doesn't spiral into chaos. If that means I step in to restore order, then yes, I'll take that role. But I can't do it while Enzo remains in charge. That's where you come into play."
Dominic leaned back, contemplating.
Marcello had just laid his cards on the table, but Dominic wasn't certain he saw the complete picture.
Marcello didn't want to dismantle the syndicate. He wanted to reshape it, to fashion it into something that suited him.
And if Dominic aided him, he would be complicit in placing yet another power-hungry individual at the helm.
Would it truly be any different than leaving Enzo in charge?
A Decision That Could Alter Everything
Marcello observed Dominic's expression intently.
"I understand your thoughts," he said. "You've left this world behind. You don't wish to get involved. But let me clarify, Dominic—you are already involved. Whether you want to admit it, your reputation still holds weight. If you choose inaction, Enzo will continue to grow stronger, and when he eventually comes looking for you—and he will—you will have no allies left."
Dominic took a slow breath.
Marcello was correct about one thing—he couldn't afford to stay on the sidelines any longer. Not when the past was already encroaching upon him.
Not when his sister was searching for him.
He tapped the envelope against the table, weighing his choices.
He could walk away, allowing Enzo and Marcello to engage in their own conflict.
Or he could re-enter the fray, not as a ruler, but as a strategist.
If he played his cards right, he could dismantle the syndicate—not just replace it.
The question lingered—did he still have the resolve for it?
Finally, Dominic met Marcello's eyes.
"I'll think about it," he replied.
Marcello beamed. "That's all I needed to hear."
But as Dominic watched him exit, the uncertainty lingered.
Marcello was a man who always aimed to win.
And Dominic had no desire to become just another pawn in his scheme.
This time, if he decided to act—
It would be on his terms.
The Violent Pain
Dominic Valente had endured pain in every form imaginable—bullet wounds, broken ribs, the sting of betrayal. He had been beaten, cut, and left for dead more times than he could count. But none of it compared to the searing, relentless agony that now gripped his skull.
The headaches had started as a dull ache, an occasional pressure behind his eyes that he could brush off as fatigue. But over the past few weeks, they had grown worse. The pain no longer came in short waves but in full, crushing assaults that made the world tilt beneath his feet.
And now, he could no longer ignore them.
The Breaking Point
It happened on a quiet afternoon..
Dominic was seated on the terrace of his private villa, enjoying a cup of coffee and reviewing the documents Marcello Russo had handed him. The sun hung lazily in the atmosphere, casting a warm golden glow over the vineyards that extended beyond his estate.
Then, without warning, the pain hit him.
It was a sensation he had never experienced—sharp and blinding, like a knife piercing directly into his brain. He tightened his jaw, pressing his fingers against his temples as his vision became hazy. The world around him appeared to contract, with the edges of his sight darkening.
A faint ringing echoed in his ears. His heart raced erratically, and for the very first time, Dominic felt fear—not of an adversary, not of dying, but of his own body letting him down.
He attempted to rise, but his legs gave way.
The coffee cup slipped from his hand and shattered on the stone floor.
He scarcely registered the sound.
Breathing hard, he clutched the edge of the table, struggling to remain conscious. The pain throbbed, pulsing with each heartbeat, as if something within his skull was desperate to escape.
Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the pain subsided enough for him to catch his breath again.
For a lengthy moment, Dominic sat immobile, his fingers digging into the wooden surface beneath him. His shirt was sticky with sweat, and his hands shook slightly.
This was not normal.
He had endured far too much and survived countless trials to dismiss this simply as stress.
Something was indeed wrong.
And for the first time in years, Dominic Valente acknowledged that he required assistance.
He walked into the dimly lit office of Dr. Julien Dupont, a man who had become an unwelcome yet essential part of his life. This was his second visit in just as many weeks, and although Dominic usually avoided medical practitioners, the persistent headaches had left him no alternative.
Dr. Dupont, a middle-aged man with keen, attentive eyes, sat behind his desk, going over the notes from Dominic's previous appointment. The air in the office was saturated with the scent of antiseptic, while the soft hum of the overhead lights contributed to the clinical ambiance.
"You're back," Dr. Dupont said, looking up. His tone was steady and composed. "That indicates the headaches haven't improved."
Dominic took a seat, letting out a slow breath. "No. They've gotten worse."
The doctor put down his pen. "Worse in what way?"
Dominic rubbed his temple, feeling the familiar pressure build. "They're more frequent, more intense. At times, I can hardly think clearly."
Dr. Dupont nodded, his expression inscrutable. He was accustomed to treating high-profile clients, men who prioritized their privacy above all else. Yet something about Dominic piqued his interest—there was a restrained urgency beneath the man's composed façade, a suggestion that he was familiar with battles unrelated to medicine.
"You didn't heed my advice," Dr. Dupont remarked. "Rest. Less stress."
Dominic offered a humorless grin. "That's not really an option."
The doctor sighed and leaned back. "And what about the blackouts? The dizziness?"
Dominic hesitated for just a moment. "They haven't ceased."
Dr. Dupont intertwined his fingers, observing him closely. "You're not the type to seek help unless absolutely necessary. The fact that you're here again implies you already realize this is not something you can overlook."
Dominic's jaw set firmly. "I only want to understand what I'm facing."
Dr. Dupont nodded slowly. "I've gone over your tests. There are matters we need to address. But before I proceed, I must conduct one final scan."
Dominic let out a breath through his nose. He had anticipated this.
"How soon?"
"Tomorrow," said Dr. Dupont. "I want to be thorough."
Dominic rose, putting his sunglasses back on. "Alright. Let's get it done."
As he started to leave, Dr. Dupont's voice called him back.
"Dominic."
He stopped.
"Whatever this is—you need to brace yourself."
Dominic remained silent. He simply walked out, the burden of uncertainty weighing more heavily than ever