Chapter 9 - Wrath of the Kingpin
Before Sofia’s finger could complete the trigger pull, the silence in the concourse was shattered by the thunderous roar of Dante Moretti’s Kimber .45.
*BANG!*
Dante’s bullet struck Sofia’s right wrist with surgical precision, shattering the delicate bones and sending the pearl-handled weapon spinning across the crimson carpet. Sofia screamed, clutching her ruined wrist, collapsing to her knees in a spray of scarlet that ruined her emerald gown.
“DOWN!” Carter yelled, drawing his weapon, but it was already too late.
The moment Dante fired, Victor threw a high-intensity smoke canister down the center of the hallway. A dense wall of blinding, choking white smoke billowed toward the federal contractors, completely blinding their firing line.
*RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!*
The contractors fired blindly into the smoke, their rounds chewing into the ornate plaster pillars and shattering the priceless crystal chandeliers overhead. Glass rained down like diamond shards across the corridor.
Through the chaos, Dante moved like an ancient god of war.
He didn't run away from the gunfire; he charged straight through the smoke. He closed the distance on the first contractor in two heartbeats, knocking the barrel of the man’s assault rifle upward with his left arm while driving the heavy steel slide of his .45 into the man’s throat. The contractor dropped without a sound.
Dante spun, catching the second contractor with a brutal double-tap to the center mass, spinning the man around before using his body as a human shield against Carter’s frantic, blind return fire.
*Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!*
Dante advanced through the crimson hall with relentless, terrifying precision. Every shot he fired found flesh and bone. He was not a corporate executive anymore; he was the feared Chicago kingpin who had carved his name into the underworld with absolute, unyielding brutality.
Sergei Kozlov, realizing the entire operation was an ambush of incompetence, turned to flee toward the emergency exit stairs.
He didn't make it three steps.
Victor, his broken arm tucked into his vest, stepped out of the shadow of a marble pillar and rammed the barrel of a heavy snub-nosed revolver under Kozlov’s chin.
“Don't move, Russian,” Victor rasped, his eyes cold as a grave. “Or your brains will paint the ceiling.”
Kozlov froze, slowly raising his massive, calloused hands into the air, cursing fluently in Russian under his breath.
At the other end of the hall, Special Agent Carter was backing away toward the heavy double doors of the Red Lacquer Room, his gun empty, clicking uselessly on an empty chamber. His eyes were wide with primal, animalistic panic as Dante stepped out of the smoke, his face spattered with blood, his Kimber smoking in his hand.
“Dante… wait!” Carter begged, raising his hands, his back slamming against the carved mahogany doors. “I’m a federal agent! You kill me, they’ll bring the National Guard down on you! We can cut a deal! I can give you Sofia! I can give you the Russian distribution network!”
Dante stopped three feet from the corrupt agent. His breathing was slow, measured, devoid of adrenaline.
“You took my brother’s life,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of Carter’s neck stand up. “And you had your dogs beat an innocent girl with a club in my garage.”
“Dante, please—”
*BANG!*
Dante fired once. The bullet punched through the center of Carter’s forehead, pinning him to the mahogany door before his body slid down to the floor, leaving a streak of dark crimson across the antique wood.
The concourse fell utterly, terrifyingly silent.
The smoke began to drift upward, thinning into the vaulted ceiling. Five armed contractors lay dead or dying on the Persian carpets. Sergei Kozlov stood motionless under the barrel of Victor’s gun.
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And in the center of the hall, kneeling in a pool of her own blood, Sofia Moretti looked up at the older brother who had protected her for thirty years.
***
