Chapter 9
Vincent squeezed the trigger of his submachine gun, but his hands were shaking violently with pure terror. A spray of bullets chewed into the concrete floor and shattered a nearby wooden crate, missing Dante completely.
Dante did not flinch. He raised his suppressed pistol and fired a single, calculated shot.
The bullet struck Vincent’s right shoulder, shattering the bone. Vincent shrieked in agony, dropping the submachine gun as he collapsed heavily onto the concrete floor of the elevated walkway. He scrambled backward, smearing a trail of blood across the floorboards, desperate to retreat back into his office.
Dante walked slowly toward the steel stairs leading to the walkway. Below him, his men systematically executed the remaining Moretti soldiers, securing the warehouse floor. The overwhelming violence had been swift and absolute.
Dante climbed the stairs, his polished leather shoes ringing hollowly against the metal grates. He reached the top and looked down at the bleeding, gasping Mafia boss.
"Dante... wait!" Vincent choked out, pressing his uninjured hand against his bleeding shoulder. His American accent was thick with panic, his fair skin slick with sweat. "We can negotiate! The ports are yours! I surrender the southern territory!"
Dante slowly crouched down, his tailored three-piece suit pulling tight across his broad shoulders. The bright overhead warehouse lights highlighted the artistic, sharp tattoos on his hands as he rested the barrel of his pistol gently against Vincent’s forehead.
"You do not have the privilege of negotiation, Vincent," Dante whispered softly, his deep, raspy voice echoing in the quiet space above the secured warehouse floor.
"It was Helena's idea!" Vincent sobbed, desperately trying to pass the blame. "She approached me! She wanted the coup! She said she would hand over the little girl as collateral! I didn't ask for the child, Dante, I swear!"
"You agreed to accept her," Dante corrected, the cold, lethal anger finally leaking into his measured tone. "You agreed to take my three-year-old daughter and use her life as a bargaining chip to secure your supply lines."
"I wouldn't have hurt her!" Vincent lied frantically.
"You will never have the opportunity," Dante said softly.
He didn't yell. He didn't monologue. He simply pulled the trigger.
The suppressed shot ended the life of the Moretti Don instantly. Vincent slumped backward against the glass wall of his office, completely motionless.
Dante stood up slowly. He holstered his weapon and wiped a microscopic drop of blood from his tailored suit jacket. He looked down at the warehouse floor. His men were standing over the bodies of the fallen syndicate, waiting for his command.
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"Burn it down," Dante ordered quietly, walking back down the steel stairs. "Leave absolutely nothing."
As Dante walked out of the warehouse and back into the cool night air, the scent of gasoline and smoke began to billow from the building. The Moretti syndicate had been eradicated in less than ten minutes. The message to the rest of the criminal underworld was terrifyingly clear: The Caruso empire was absolute, and Dante would unleash hell on earth to protect his blood.
