Chapter 4 - Dante

The city stretched out beneath me like a kingdom made of glass and smoke. From the top floor of Vescari Global, I could see everything—the river carving through the skyline, the pulsing veins of traffic, the towers that glowed like embers in the night. My empire. My territory.

And yet, even with the view of a god, peace was a currency I could never seem to afford.

“Let me make sure I understand this correctly,” I said, my voice low but sharp enough to cut glass. “You want to build another club—on neutral territory.”

Across the desk sat Lucian Drayke, the Storm King himself, all tailored arrogance and lightning eyes. His suit was immaculate—charcoal silk, cufflinks shaped like thunderbolts—but his smirk carried the same danger as a blade.

“Neutral territory, yes,” he said, pouring himself a drink from the decanter on my bar. “A place for all families to mingle without spilling blood. Think of it as… good optics.”

“Optics?” I repeated, leaning back in my chair. The leather creaked under my weight. “You think Kael Drakov gives a damn about optics? He’d torch the entire district if he thought someone was making coin without cutting him in.”

Lucian swirled his glass lazily. “You underestimate him. Kael doesn’t move unless he smells profit—or pride. As long as we don’t threaten either, he stays buried in his obsidian castle, playing god with his shadows.”

I arched a brow. “You have more faith in his restraint than I do. Last time someone crossed his borders, he turned their nightclub into ash. With the owner still inside.”

Lucian shrugged. “Unfortunate, but not unprofitable.”

I slammed my palm down on the desk hard enough to make the decanter rattle. “You’re not listening. The Ember Pact exists for a reason. Fire stays in fire territory. Storms stay in theirs. You break that, you break centuries of balance.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “The balance is already breaking, Dante. You feel it as much as I do. Kael’s growing bolder—trafficking essence under the Drakov name, buying politicians in my cities. He’s testing the line. Maybe it’s time we test it back.”

I glared at him, jaw tight. He wasn’t wrong. Kael had been pushing boundaries for months now—quietly building networks, recruiting dragonborn mercenaries, tightening his grip on trade routes that used to belong to the Vescari. But starting a turf war over a damn nightclub? That wasn’t strategy. That was suicide.

“And what happens when Kael finds out?” I asked, voice hard. “He’ll take it as an act of aggression. Neutral territory or not, he’ll see it as invasion. You know him—he’ll burn everything just to make a point.”

Lucian met my gaze, unflinching. “Then let him burn. Fire consumes, yes—but it also clears the path for something new.”

I exhaled through my nose, more smoke than breath. “You sound like a philosopher trying to justify arson.”

He smirked. “Better than sounding like a dragon too scared to fly.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Careful.”

Lightning cracked faintly under his skin, a pulse of blue light that rippled across his neck and vanished. “Don’t threaten me, Dante. I came to you with opportunity, not war.”

“Opportunity,” I repeated, standing from my chair. “You’re asking me to build an unclaimed empire in the middle of a minefield. You’re asking me to defy the Drakovs while pretending we’re not. And for what? To build a glorified bar?”

Lucian stood as well, his height nearly matching mine. “It’s not about the club—it’s about influence. Neutral ground means we control who comes to the table. The humans think they’re running the world, but we both know they’re just our cover. A place like that—where dragons, mafia, and mortals mingle? We’d own the damn city from the shadows.”

He wasn’t wrong again, damn him.

The idea had merit. A neutral club under our shared banner could shift the power dynamic—give us leverage against Kael’s tightening chokehold. But it also painted a target on our backs. One Kael would delight in hitting first.

I turned to the window, watching the storm clouds gathering over the skyline. “If Kael finds out before we’re ready, he won’t just start a war—he’ll turn this city into a funeral pyre. He already suspects I’m rebuilding my network after the London fire. You want to hand him proof?”

Lucian walked up beside me, his reflection flickering against the glass. “Sometimes, to control the storm, you have to stand in it.”

I hated how easily his words echoed my own instincts.

“Think about it,” he continued. “A new Obsidian location. Hidden in plain sight. You manage the ground operations, I handle the finance. We recruit quiet, careful. And when it’s done, the Vescari and Drayke names will mean something again.”

I stared out at the city, jaw working. “And if it fails?”

“Then we burn together.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the low hum of the city below. My reflection stared back—dark hair, sharp jaw, eyes the color of bourbon and fury. A dragon pretending to be a man.

Finally, I sighed. “I’ll consider it.”

Lucian grinned, teeth flashing white. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

He set his glass down on my desk, still half full, and reached for his coat. “Enough business for one night, hmm? You should get out of this office before you drown in your own thoughts.”

“I’m fine right here,” I said dryly.

He arched a brow. “You’ve been ‘fine right here’ for months. Brooding doesn’t make the world turn slower, my friend. Come to my club tonight—Echelon. First round’s on me.”

“I don’t drink,” I muttered.

“Then come for the company,” he said with a knowing smirk. “You might even find a pretty little thing to help ease that dragon temper of yours. I hear redheads are your weakness.”

I shot him a look, but he only chuckled.

“Think about it,” Lucian said, heading for the door. “Sometimes even kings need to be reminded they’re alive.”

The door closed behind him, leaving the office heavy with silence and the faint scent of storm.

I stared out the window again, watching lightning crawl across the horizon. The thought of another club stirred something restless inside me—a flicker of temptation, ambition, danger.

Maybe Lucian was right. Maybe I’d been coiled too long, holding too much heat in my chest.