“I’ll Give You $10M If You Translate This”, Laughed The Mafia Boss… But The Shy Waitress Silenced…

Flight and Fire

Chaos erupted. Patrons screamed and scrambled for the exits.

Mr. Henderson fled, but Selene stood frozen, the parchment fluttering to the floor between her and the most dangerous man in the city. Dante pulled a silver pistol from his holster in one fluid motion.

He didn’t aim it at Luca. He aimed it at Selene.

“You,”

he said, his voice void of emotion.

“You’re coming with me.”

“But the money,”

Selene stammered, stepping back.

“You said I—”

“But you just saved my life, or you just ended it. Either way, you know too much.”

Dante laughed, a cold, humorless sound. He grabbed her wrist, his grip like a manacle.

“Congratulations, cara. You just got promoted.”

The ride in the back of the armored SUV was silent and suffocating. Selene was squeezed between Dante and the window.

The door locks were engaged, and the glass was bulletproof. She was trapped.

She watched the city lights blur by, Manhattan fading into the distance as they crossed the bridge toward a private estate in the Hamptons. Her mind was racing, replaying the translation.

“The gold is the blood of the traitor who sits at your right hand.” She had accused his best friend of treason.

If she was wrong, Dante would kill her. If she was right, Luca would try to kill her.

There was no winning scenario.

“Who are you?”

Dante’s voice broke the silence. He wasn’t looking at her; he was cleaning his gun with a silk handkerchief.

The movements were precise and practiced.

“I told you,”

Selene said, hugging her arms around herself.

“I’m a waitress.”

“Waitresses don’t read dead languages,”

Dante countered. He turned to face her, the streetlights casting shifting shadows across his sharp features.

“I had my team run your face while we were driving. No social media, no credit history for the last three years. A ghost.”

He leaned in closer.

“But before that: Dr. Selene Rostova, Cambridge University. Disgraced for… what was it? Unethical decryption of classified government documents?”

Selene flinched.

“I decoded a historical archive. I didn’t know it was still active.”

“And yet, you vanished,”

Dante mused.

“Smart, but not smart enough to keep your mouth shut tonight.”

“You asked for a translation!”

She snapped, her fear momentarily giving way to indignation.

“You promised $10 million.”

Dante chuckled darkly.

“And you believed a mafia don? You really are naive, Doctor.”

The Hidden Fortress

The car slowed, turning through massive iron gates marked with a “V.” The driveway wound through acres of dark forest before revealing a sprawling limestone mansion that looked more like a fortress than a home.

“Here is the deal,”

Dante said, as the car came to a halt.

“Luca is currently in a holding cell in the basement of my city penthouse. My men are interviewing him. If he confesses, you live. If he proves his loyalty, it means you lied to sow discord.”

“I didn’t lie,”

Selene insisted.

“The text was clear.”

“We’ll see.”

The door opened, and a guard hauled Selene out. Dante didn’t offer a hand; he simply walked toward the massive double doors, expecting her to follow.

She considered running into the dark woods, but the red laser dot on her chest from a sniper on the roof changed her mind. She followed him inside.

The foyer was breathtaking: marble floors, a chandelier the size of a car, and art that belonged in the Louvre. But Selene only had eyes for the security—cameras everywhere, guards at every exit.

“Take her to the blue room,”

Dante ordered a maid who appeared from the shadows.

“Lock the door. Give her anything she wants to eat, but no phone, no internet.”

“Wait,”

Selene called out, as the maid took her arm.

“What happens to me now?”

Dante paused on the grand staircase. He looked down at her, and for a fleeting second, his expression softened, revealing a man burdened by the weight of a crown he never asked for.

“Now, Selene, you pray that you are as smart as you think you are, because that letter… that was page one.”

He turned and disappeared upstairs.

The Devil’s Tongue

Inside the blue room, which was actually a luxurious guest suite with barred windows, Selene paced until her feet hurt. Hours passed.

She found a change of clothes in the closet—expensive silk pajamas that fit her surprisingly well. She showered, washing the smell of the restaurant and fear off her skin.

But the anxiety remained. It was past 3:00 a.m. when the lock clicked.

Selene scrambled off the bed, backing against the headboard. Dante entered.

He had changed out of his suit into a black button-down shirt and trousers. He looked exhausted.

There was a smear of blood on his cuff that wasn’t there before. He held a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

He kicked the door shut behind him.

“Drink,”

he said, pouring a glass and holding it out to her.

“I don’t drink with kidnappers,”

Selene said.

“Drink,”

he repeated, his voice strained.

“It’s a celebration.”

Selene hesitated, then took the glass. Her hands were shaking.

“Celebration?”

Dante downed his own drink in one gulp. He walked to the window, looking out at the darkness.

“Luca talked,”

Dante said quietly.

“My best friend. The man who taught me how to shoot. The man I trusted with my life.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes hollow. He was skimming from the accounts for years, and he was selling my movements to the Bratva, the Russians.

Selene gasped.

“I—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,”

Dante said harshly.

“You saved me. Tonight, they were planning a hit. If I hadn’t left the restaurant when I did, if you hadn’t read that warning…”

He trailed off. He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, far too close for comfort.

The smell of whiskey and gunpowder clung to him.

“You earned your keep, Selene.”

“Does that mean I get the 10 million?”

she asked, trying to sound brave. Dante laughed, but this time it was a genuine, throaty sound.

“You’re relentless. No, you don’t get the money.”

“Then let me go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out the parchment again. He unfolded it on the bedspread between them.

“Because of this,”

he said, pointing to the bottom of the page. Selene looked closer.

Beneath the signature she had read earlier, there was another line of text. It was microscopic, written in a different ink.

She hadn’t noticed it in the dim light of the restaurant.

“What is that?”

Dante asked. Selene squinted.

Her blood ran cold.

“It’s—it’s a coordinate,”

she whispered.

“But it’s encrypted with a double-blind cipher. It’s the Devil’s Tongue code. It was thought to be unbreakable during the Cold War.”

“Can you break it?”

Dante asked, his intensity returning.

“I—I might be able to. Give me a week, maybe two.”

Dante shook his head.

“We don’t have two weeks. Luca confessed something else before he died.”

Selene swallowed hard.

“Before he died?”

“He told the Russians that I have the parchment,”

Dante said grimly.

“And he told them about the waitress who can read it.”

Dante stood up and moved to the window, closing the heavy velvet drapes.

“There is a $10 million bounty on this translation, Selene. But now, there is a $20 million bounty on your head.”

He turned back to her, his face grim.

“You are not my prisoner anymore, Selene. You are my asset. And until you crack that code, you and I are stuck together.”

“Stuck together where?”

she asked.

“On the run,”

Dante said.

“Pack your things. They know where we are.”