Chapter 17
"I'll give you everything!" Moretti sobbed, tears of genuine terror spilling down his face. "I'll surrender the entire eastern territory! I'll transfer the offshore accounts! You can have it all, Bellori! Just let me live!"
Orson stared down at the pleading, broken Mafia boss. He saw no value in negotiation. A man who targets children is a rabid dog, and rabid dogs cannot be bargained with.
"I already have your territory," Orson said softly, his dark, intimidating eyes completely devoid of mercy. "And your accounts are currently being drained by my cyber division."
Moretti’s mouth fell open, realizing he had absolutely no leverage left.
Orson didn't waste another second. He pulled the trigger. The suppressed weapon coughed twice, and Don Moretti fell back onto his pillows, entirely motionless. The head of the rival syndicate was dead, the war decapitated before it could even fully ignite.
"Target neutralized," Orson spoke calmly into his comms. "Extraction team, move in."
"Copy that, Boss," the pilot responded.
The heavy oak doors of the master suite suddenly burst open. Four Moretti bodyguards, drawn by the noise, rushed into the room, their weapons raised.
Orson moved with blinding, explosive speed. He pivoted smoothly, unleashing a devastating, surgical burst of automatic fire that dropped the first two guards instantly. Marcus and the remaining operators laid down a heavy suppressing barrage, neutralizing the remaining hostiles before they could effectively return fire.
"We are clear," Marcus reported, stepping over the fallen guards.
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"Let's go," Orson commanded, turning his back on the ruined bedroom.
They scaled the tactical ropes back to the roof just as the extraction helicopter hovered overhead. Orson grabbed the skid, pulling himself effortlessly into the cabin. As the chopper banked sharply away from the estate, the sirens of the panicked Moretti forces finally began to wail in the distance, screaming for a leader who was already dead.
