Chapter 3 - Midnight Execution of ContractsOn the tenth floor of the Apex Capital building, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the violence brewing downstairs. The executive boardroom was carpeted in plush Persian rugs and dominated by a massive glass conference table.
Dr. Elena Benevventi sat at the end of the table, her face pale, her eyes bloodshot and hollow. Her hair, usually neatly tied back, was disheveled. She clutched a silver pen in her hand like a lifeline, her fingers trembling violently above the dotted line of the transfer contract.
Standing behind her was Director Vance Jr.—a slick, silver-haired corporate shark with an expensive suit and a shark-like grin. Two armed private security guards stood near the double doors, their hands resting casually on their holsters.
"Come on, Dr. Benevventi," Vance purred, leaning over the table. "You're a brilliant geneticist, but you're terribly naive about how the world works. Sign the patent over to Apex, take the severance check of fifty thousand dollars, and walk away with your life and your daughter. Otherwise... well, let's just say little Vicki might find out what happens when mothers disappear."
Elena’s breath hitched. A tear slipped down her cheek, splashing onto the paper. She had spent five years developing a revolutionary cellular regeneration formula—a medical breakthrough that could cure degenerative diseases worldwide. And Vance’s corporate syndicate wanted to weaponize it, turning healing into a monopoly of death.
"You're animals," Elena whispered, her voice cracking. "You stole my funding, you fabricated the debt, and now you're stealing my life's work."
"Business is business, Doctor," Vance smiled coldly, tapping his gold watch. "And your midnight deadline is up. Sign."
Elena lowered the tip of the pen toward the paper. Her hand shook so badly the ink sputtered. She closed her eyes, ready to surrender her soul to save her little girl.
Clang.
The heavy steel security doors at the end of the long hallway didn't just open—they exploded inward with a deafening crash that rattled the crystal chandelier above the table.
Vance jumped up, knocking his leather chair backward. "What the hell?! Security, check the—"
He didn't get to finish the sentence.
Two of his elite guards didn't even have time to draw their weapons before muffled thuds echoed through the corridor. Two bodies slumped against the glass wall outside the boardroom, sliding down in smears of crimson.
Elena froze, her pen dropping from her numb fingers and clattering against the glass table.
The double doors of the boardroom slowly pushed open.
Stepping through the threshold was a tall, imposing figure in a charcoal-grey suit, shoulders broad, collar open, and the unmistakable, chilling aura of absolute death radiating from every step. His neck was covered in dark, intricate tattoos that caught the fluorescent light.
Vance’s face turned the color of chalk. He recognized that face from confidential intelligence files—files that local law enforcement were too terrified to open.
"C... Calcio Benevventi?" Vance stammered, stumbling backward into the glass wall. "You... you're supposed to be laying low in Sicily! This is a corporate acquisition! You have no jurisdiction here!"
May you like
Calcio didn't even look at Vance. His dark, piercing eyes locked entirely onto the trembling woman sitting at the end of the table.
"Hello, sister," Calcio said softly, his voice cutting through the ringing silence of the room. "You dropped your pen."
