Chapter 7 - The Master's Trap
Richard let out an arrogant, shrill laugh. "You think your mafia games scare me, Salvatore? I have Giancarlo Viscari's entire northern army surrounding these hills! If you don't bring Clare out in three minutes, they burn this villa to the foundation!"
From the shadows of the breached gate, three armored SUVs bearing the Viscari crest idled with tinted windows.
Dante pulled a sleek satellite phone from his pocket and pressed a single button, putting it on speaker.
A trembling, raspy voice came through the line, speaking in broken Italian: Dante... please... call off your men in Milan.
Richard froze, his arrogant sneer vanishing instantly. "Viscari? What is this?"
Jensen, you idiot! Giancarlo Viscari screamed through the phone. Salvatore didn't keep his army in Rome! While you were driving up the hill, his Sicilian crews seized our entire container terminal in Genoa! My brother is in their custody!
Dante tapped the screen, cutting the call off with a soft click.
He looked at Richard with eyes that promised death.
"Your northern friends just surrendered their weapons to my captains in Genoa five minutes ago, Jensen," Dante murmured, stepping closer. "You aren't leading an army. You're standing alone in my courtyard in the dark."
The drivers of the three Viscari SUVs immediately reversed their vehicles, tires spinning wildly on the wet gravel as they abandoned Richard without firing another shot, fleeing through the shattered gates.
Richard spun around, watching his mercenary escort vanish into the foggy night.
"No! Wait! You took two hundred thousand dollars of my money!" Richard shrieked into the empty rain.
He turned back toward Dante, panic finally overtaking his arrogance. He reached inside his trench coat for his personal sidearm.
Before his hand could clear his holster, a suppressed rifle crack echoed from the terrace roof.
A single precision round tore through Richard’s right shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him flat onto his back in the wet gravel.
Richard screamed in agony, clutching his shattered collarbone as blood seeped through his fingers into the mud.
Dante walked over, his heavy combat boots stopping right beside Richard’s head. He kicked the fallen weapon away into the fountain pool.
"Please..." Richard wheezed, looking up into Dante's terrifying, merciless face. "I'm a federal prosecutor... you can't kill me... the United States government—"
"The United States government is currently reviewing the contents of an encrypted server my technical team sent to the Department of Justice forty minutes ago," Dante said coldly. "Bank fraud, witness tampering, and five hundred thousand dollars in laundered offshore bribes from Ohio real estate developers."
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Richard’s face drained of every drop of blood.
"You're not going back to Ohio as a prosecutor, Jensen," Dante added, leaning down. "You're going back in federal leg irons. And if you ever speak Clare's name again, you won't survive your first week in Terre Haute."
