May 1, 2021. 03:32. Rome.
The voices lead us down the hall and into a larger room.
Warm light spills out from inside.
A fireplace burns low against the far wall, casting a soft orange glow across polished floors and dark furniture. No guards inside—but I don't need to see them to know they're around the perimeter.
Dante and Wissen stand near the fire, mid-conversation. They both glance up as we enter.
Dante raises a brow slightly. "Couldn't sleep?"
Wissen's gaze flicks between us. "What was the noise?" He adds.
I lean lightly against the doorway. "Shock," I say flatly. "She's out cold now—but not before making a whole scene about Tetra not joining our room."
Tetra exhales through his nose, already knowing what's coming.
Dante chuckles under his breath, reaching for a glass. "Ah… yes. That sounds like her."
He pours himself some wine, unbothered.
Tetra steps in properly this time. "So… what's going on?"
"Nothing urgent," Wissen replies. "Just… conversation."
"Talking about life before everything gets complicated," Dante adds, lifting his glass slightly.
I glance between them, then step further inside. "Mind if we join?"
Dante looks almost amused. "I'm surprised you're both still awake."
I shrug. "I'd rather enjoy the last few moments of peace before shit hits the fan."
Wissen nods faintly. "A wise approach… so long as you don't completely destroy your sleep schedule."
"Noted."
We settle in.
Dante gestures lightly with the bottle. "Drink?"
"Pass," I say.
Tetra shakes his head too. "I'm good."
Wissen's the only one who accepts, already taking a slow sip like he's done this a thousand times before.
Dante leans back slightly, looking toward Wissen. "You know… it's strange. It feels like just yesterday I was still trying to prove myself as an underboss."
Wissen lets out a soft chuckle. "And now you're about to inherit everything."
"Assuming I don't get killed first."
"Haha, preferably not."
Tetra tilts his head. "You two go way back?"
Dante gestures loosely. "He worked with the Camorra for a time—externally."
"Consigliere," Wissen clarifies. "Briefly."
That catches Tetra's attention. "Wait—really?"
I glance at him. "CSIS," I add. "Canadian Security Intelligence Service. Basically Canada's version of the FIA."
"Wait, what's the FIA? I've never heard of that." Tetra blinks. "So… is that related to the CIA?"
Wissen shakes his head slightly. "Let me back up. CSIS is closer to Britain's MI5—domestic intelligence, mostly. Originally, it sat somewhere between that and America's FBI in scope," he says. "At least, that's what it was before the collapse of the Gang of Four."
Tetra squints. "Wait… that was real? I thought the whole 'four agencies trying to merge into one shadow government' thing was just conspiracy trash."
I snort. "Where have you been?"
He shoots me a mock-offended look. "Hey, I don't keep up with politics like that. Most of what I know comes from history books, old broadcasts, or hearsay."
"Psh. Even then, you must've heard something."
"If you mean 'absolute random garbage I have to filter through,' then yeah."
Wissen chuckles under his breath before continuing. "It wasn't just talk. Elements within the FBI, the CIA, and their counterparts abroad made a play for centralized control. It failed—messily. Afterward, the FIA formed in the fallout, and everyone else adjusted accordingly. In Canada's case, it consolidated its branches into one. As a result, the CSIS expanded—domestic and foreign. It became our primary intelligence service."
Tetra lets out a low whistle, leaning back as he gives Wissen a second look. "Damn… didn't realize you were one of those intel guys." He shakes his head, a quiet huff slipping out. "I never really got why there were so many separate branches to begin with, though."
Wissen smiles faintly. "That's the cost of bureaucracy."
A brief pause settles in as his gaze drifts toward the fire.
"Anyway… after I stepped away from that line of work, I had to clean up a number of loose ends," he continues. "Leaving that kind of position isn't exactly simple."
"That's an understatement," I mutter. "You were waist-deep in some heavy shit."
"And then the market collapsed," Wissen adds, smiling faintly. "AI systems spiraled out of control, and most of the world's infrastructure destabilized. People lost control of their assets… and themselves." He takes another sip of wine. "For a few years, the world was… unpredictable. I spent most of that time navigating the fallout—contacts turning unstable, alliances breaking down. Everyone just trying to survive."
Tetra shifts slightly. "Sounds like a nightmare."
"It was," Wissen admits. "But it was also… interesting."
Of course he'd say that.
"After that," he continues, "I began rebuilding. Expanding my network. Establishing new connections." He faintly smirks. "I may know too many people now."
I let out a quiet huff. "No kidding."
Wissen glances at me. "And eventually… that led to the two of you."
Tetra leans back slightly, processing that.
Dante hums, then turns toward me. "Speaking of connections… I've been meaning to ask."
I glance at him. "Yeah?"
"Your operations," he says. "Would you be willing to expand further?"
"It's a work in progress. Right now, I've got North America and Europe pretty well covered." I pause, considering it for a second. "But I'm not opposed."
Dante smiles faintly. "Good to know."
"Just make sure you've got the eddies ready."
He lets out a quiet laugh. "I will."
His attention shifts to Tetra next. "And you?"
Tetra shrugs. "Not much to say. Most of my people are just… fish lovers out at sea."
I snort. "Hey. At least he's a Vancouverite now."
Tetra laughs, nodding. "I'll take that."
"Then by that logic," Dante says, amused, "you're also an honorary Italian."
Wissen chuckles into his glass but says nothing.
The mood stays light for a moment, but then it shifts.
Dante exhales, leaning back slightly. "Ah, but, to get back to our topic from earlier, Wissen… you're actually leaving, aren't you?"
Wissen doesn't answer immediately.
"Yes. I've built enough," he continues. "More than enough. I'd prefer to step away before things… deteriorate."
"Right… retirement and all that?" Tetra asks.
"In a sense."
I tilt my head slightly. "Arasaka must be making that difficult."
Wissen smiles faintly. "No comment. I'm… wrapping things up. Checking in on people. Closing what needs to be closed."
"Before disappearing?"
He meets my gaze. "Something like that."
The fire crackles softly.
Dante watches it for a moment, quieter now. "…I wonder what things will look like when I take over."
Wissen glances at him. "Elaborate."
"I don't know what's coming next." Dante exhales slowly. "Once I become Godfather… everything changes."
He pauses before continuing.
"Only God would know what happens after that."
The word lingers. God.
It slips out of me before I really think about it.
"…How do you even believe in God?" I ask. "With everything you do."
The moment hangs and I blink. Oops.
"…Sorry," I add quickly. "Didn't mean to sound like an asshole. Just—curious."
Tetra immediately chimes in, grinning. "For now."
I kick him lightly.
He laughs.
Dante, though, just smiles.
"You're fine," he says. "It's a fair question."
Dante leans back slightly, the glass resting loosely in his hand. "I believe in God—and in the transformation that comes from that belief. But I also believe it's important to confront reality as it is."
The fire crackles between us.
"To be more precise, I believe in redemption," he continues. "But I don't believe in letting evil men decide when that redemption takes place."
What is he talking about? My brow furrows slightly. "Redemption?"
"Yes. Redemption." Dante's gaze drifts—not at any one of us, but somewhere past us. "If someone wrongs you, you can forgive them later. But forgiveness doesn't restore what was lost while you were deciding."
A quiet breath leaves him.
"If you hesitate… and let them carry out the wrong they were already set on, that will cost lives." His grip tightens slightly around the glass. "And it's rarely the guilty who suffer first. In a world like ours, mercy isn't without cost. Sometimes… it costs others everything."
He pauses briefly before continuing.
"I believe in God," Dante adds, "but I also don't believe that means I'm meant to stand by and watch people destroy each other while I wait for something divine to intervene. If someone chooses to do wrong—truly chooses it—then I'd rather be the one to step in and stop it before it spreads… even if that means I have to dirty my own hands to do it."
I don't say anything.
Not because I agree or disagree. But because I don't know what to say.
Wissen watches him carefully before speaking.
"Respectfully, you're not wrong," he says. "But you're not right either."
Dante glances at him.
Wissen sets his glass down, fingers resting lightly against the rim.
"I'm not here to argue the existence of a divine creator," he says calmly. "There's already enough damage in this world without tearing that apart as well. And I have no interest in mocking belief. If anything, the more broken the world becomes, the more necessary belief becomes. And I've seen enough in my own life to give Christianity a chance. So take it as someone who has explored the faith, as opposed to lecturing you ignorantly on what is the truth." His eyes flick briefly to Dante. "But if you are going to commit to it… then you must commit fully."
"Fair enough," Dante exhales. "Though necessity does not make something practical."
"No, you're right. Practicality isn't the same as truth… or at least—not the kind of truth people choose to follow."
"Elaborate."
"You can take a life in self-defense. In that moment, you don't have the luxury of choice. It's immediate and reactive to an aggressor. Therefore, it's survival," Wissen says, leaning back slightly. "But that's not what I'm talking about."
Dante's gaze sharpens slightly.
"In your case, you're no longer reacting to immediate threats," Wissen continues. "Given your position as a leader of the mafia, you're now actively deciding. You're in a position where you can choose who lives and who dies before the moment even arrives. If you kill in the moment to survive, that is one thing. But if you begin deciding who deserves to die ahead of time… then you're no longer protecting people. You're essentially passing judgment."
Dante's expression hardens slightly. "And if I know what they're going to do? If I know someone will ruin lives—destroy families—hurt innocent people?" He lets out a faint huff. "I'd end that before it ever begins."
"Even in Hell's backyard… God is still God."
"And while I wait for Him to act, people suffer."
"That is the tension of a Christian, not the answer. To believe you must carry the burden alone—that if you don't act, no one will. But that belief… is not faith. It's control over the world around you."
"You and I have both seen what happens when people wait. I don't see an easy solution to what you propose. Nothing changes. There are no miracles or interventions. Just more violence and despair."
Wissen nods once. "I know. But I have also seen what happens when people decide they are the only ones fit to act," he says. "When they stop trusting anything beyond themselves."
Dante exhales through his nose. "…Easy for you to say."
Wissen raises a brow slightly.
"You're often the one sitting back," Dante continues. "Building networks, moving pieces. You don't have to stand in front of people and decide in seconds who walks away and who doesn't. You don't govern lives the same way I do."
Wissen doesn't react defensively. "That is true," he says simply. "I've had to make those choices before—back when I was leaving the CSIS—cutting ties and making new ones. But I am no longer in that position." He pauses, eyes drifting briefly to the ground. "And I do not envy yours."
Dante studies Wissen for a beat before looking back toward the fire. "The world doesn't give me time for miracles," he says quietly.
"It rarely does. But without giving them a chance… you become the world you're fighting." Wissen's gaze dips for a moment, letting his words hang before finishing. "I never questioned your intent. Nor your desire to protect others—even through methods that are… less than clean. I'd be a hypocrite if I did. But if you don't restrain yourself… you risk going too far."
Silence sinks in again. Nothing tense, but nothing resolved either.
Dante exhales slowly, eyes closing for just a moment.
Only then do I notice it—a subtle movement of his hand. His fingers move slowly, deliberately.
A rosary.
He rolls one of the beads between his thumb and forefinger, grounding himself in the moment.
Wissen notices too.
"I mean this out of care," he says gently. "You know that."
Dante doesn't open his eyes just yet, but a soft chuckle escapes him—not mocking, just familiar. "I know."
Wissen leans back slightly. "I just don't want to see you reach a point where you begin to believe you're the one deciding what's right… instead of trusting that something greater than you can."
Dante opens his eyes again, though his fingers still rest on the rosary.
"I've thought about that more times than I can count… ever since I became an underboss."
He pauses before adding more.
"Thank you," he says. "For the concern."
I watch the exchange in silence, taking it all in as my image of Dante slowly clicks together—not fully, but enough to understand.
To dirty his own hands… so no one else has to.
It's a messed-up kind of responsibility.
Something closer to sacrifice than anything else. Or at least, what he believes it to be.
I shift slightly, arms crossing.
…Yeah. This isn't something I can just jump into.
I glance at Tetra.
He's been quiet this whole time—but I can tell he's been thinking.
Dante notices too.
"I'm sorry, we got carried away," he says, turning to Tetra and me. "We don't typically have late-night conversations like this anymore, so it's… a bit of a treat. Even so, we didn't mean to exclude you two."
Tetra lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "No, it's all good," he says. "Honestly… I was just thinking about my own people."
He rubs the back of his neck slightly.
"Back home, things are simpler—but not necessarily easier. You still have to make calls that affect everyone. You just… feel it more because it's a tighter community."
Dante nods. "Then let me ask you something," he says, turning toward him. "I'm curious—since you come from nomads, perhaps you have a different perspective altogether."
Tetra smiles faintly, straightening just a little—not tense, just engaged. "Alright, sure. Let's hear it."
"In your opinion, what's the responsibility of a leader?"
"To protect and advocate for your people," Tetra says without hesitation. "Full stop. Without them, you're leading nobody."
Dante nods once. "I respect that. But what if time is limited?" he asks. "What matters more—mercy or safety?"
"I think…" Tetra exhales slowly, thinking it through. "It depends. If everyone's in danger, safety comes first. But if you've got room to breathe… you should choose mercy."
He glances between Dante and Wissen.
"So yeah… I agree with Wissen more. Because once you lose that, you're not protecting people anymore—you're controlling them."
Dante's eyes narrow slightly—not in disagreement, but in thought.
"So then, would you say it's right to do wrong, if it protects others?"
"…Depends on how wrong," Tetra says honestly. "I think there's a difference between bending rules and destroying everything to get your way." He gives a small shake of his head. "Bombing a suburb to stop one threat? No. Breaking the law to protect someone? Yeah… probably."
Wissen watches him with quiet approval.
"And who would you say decides if someone deserves a second chance?" Dante asks.
Tetra frowns slightly.
"…That's not something one person should decide," he says. "People should have a say. Otherwise you're just… making choices for everyone in the dark."
That one sits heavier for me.
How many times have I made that call? Preemptively, quietly, alone.
Not like them—at least not at their scale. But still…
Wissen lifts his glass, taking a slow drink.
Dante's fingers continue along the rosary before he speaks again. "Do you think someone is beyond the point of redemption?"
Tetra grimaces slightly. "Normally… I'd say no," he admits. He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "I've always believed people can change—that given enough time, enough chances… they'll figure it out. But after Vancouver… and everything outside my home…" He exhales, his gaze dropping slightly. "I don't know. I think there is a point where someone's too far gone. But that line keeps moving. Especially now… with everything people are becoming."
No one argues that. No one really can.
"And the weight of it?" Dante asks. "Who carries that?"
Tetra doesn't hesitate this time. He straightens slightly, voice firm.
"We all do." A small smile follows. "That's kind of the point, right? We succeed together. We fail together. That's why community matters."
The room goes quiet for a moment.
Then Dante looks at him—more carefully this time.
"I see…" he says. A brief pause. "And what about your faith? Do you believe in a creator?"
Tetra lets out a quiet breath. "I don't know. I've never really committed to anything like that. But I also don't think there's nothing out there." He shrugs lightly. "I'm willing to believe in something at this point."
I tilt my head, analyzing him. Simple and honest.
"But what I do know is that people are real," Tetra continues. "We're here. And we're the ones deciding what the world becomes. As long as people are still trying—still helping each other—there's hope."
Silence follows. Not empty, but full of memories, regrets, and victories no one says out loud.
I lean back slightly, arms still crossed.
"…Damn," I mutter under my breath, not even sure who I'm reacting to anymore.
Dante exhales slowly, his gaze drifting back toward the fire. "…I suppose you're both right, Tetra and Wissen. There isn't much room for miracles if I cut things short before they ever happen."
"Well, it's not like you're naive about it either," Tetra adds, a faint hint of melancholy in his voice. "Things aren't exactly sunshine and rainbows. You're more likely to get shot on the street than see someone doing good for the sake of it."
Wissen lets out a quiet breath. "This might be a little too philosophical for you, Artemis," he says lightly.
I frown. "Hey—"
My mouth hangs open, ready to fire something back—something witty—but nothing comes out.
"Yeah, well—" I start, then stop, the words stalling out. "…Never mind."
That earns a quiet chuckle from everyone.
I roll my eyes, letting it pass. "Whatever."
"I'm joking." Wissen chuckles, raising a hand slightly. "But… yes, Tetra isn't wrong," he adds, glancing back at Dante. "It's not as if you speak from naivety. You understand the nature of the world well enough."
The words linger longer than they should.
No one speaks. We just sit there, the quiet settling in—each of us caught in our own thoughts.
Ugh. My head's a mess. I don't know what to think.