Chapter 15
Don Falcone raised his shaking hands, his arrogant bravado completely shattered by the absolute destruction of his empire in less than ten minutes. "Adrian, please! We can negotiate! I can offer you the entire western distribution network! Billions of dollars! I'll surrender the territory!"
"I do not negotiate," Adrian murmured, his voice a freezing void. "With men who hide behind women and bodyguards to threaten children."
"It was business!" Falcone shrieked, backing away until he hit the floor-to-ceiling window.
"This," Adrian said smoothly, raising his sidearm, "is an execution."
He pulled the trigger. The suppressed shot ended the Falcone reign instantly.
"Target neutralized," Adrian spoke calmly into his comms. "Sanitize the building. Download their servers. We leave no trace."
The extraction was as flawless as the infiltration. By the time the local Chicago police managed to manually breach the locked lower floors, the Bellucci strike team had vanished entirely into the night, leaving behind a silent tomb that would baffle federal authorities for years.
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The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a bright, cinematic glow over the horizon, when Adrian’s jet touched down back at his private estate. He had eradicated a massive rival syndicate, secured his supply lines, and avenged the insult to his family without suffering a single casualty.
He walked into the grand foyer, shedding his tactical gear, returning to the pristine, white marble environment of his home. He was exhausted, but the adrenaline still hummed in his veins. He bypassed his study and walked straight to the secure basement levels. The war outside was over, but the traitors who had started it were still waiting in the dark.
