Chapter 9 - THE FINAL STRIKEThe private tarmac at Teterboro Airport was slick with midnight rain. A sleek white Gulfstream jet sat idling on the runway, its turbine engines screaming against the wind.
Dimitry Volkov hurried across the wet concrete surrounded by four heavily armed bodyguards, heading toward the aircraft stairs.
"Faster!" Volkov barked. "Get me on that plane before Moretti's men find us!"
"Looking for me, Dimitry?"
Volkov spun around in terror.
Standing at the edge of the tarmac, emerging calmly from the shadows of a fuel tanker, was Adrian Moretti. He walked alone through the rain, his black trench coat billowing behind him, holding a suppressed automatic pistol loosely at his side.
"Moretti?!" Volkov shrieked, backing away toward his guards. "Kill him! Shoot him right now!"
The four bodyguards raised their weapons—but before their fingers could reach the triggers, a hail of sniper fire from the perimeter fence instantly took out all four men with clinical, terrifying precision. They dropped like stones onto the wet tarmac.
Volkov froze, his face turning the color of ash as Adrian walked slowly up to him, stopping just two feet away.
"You burned my house down," Adrian said quietly, his voice like grinding ice. "You terrified my daughter."
"I... I am a businessman," Volkov stammered, shaking violently as the cold barrel of Adrian’s pistol pressed lightly against the center of his forehead. "We can make a deal—fifty million, my entire shipping network—"
"I don't want your money, Dimitry," Adrian interrupted softly. "My family's safety isn't for sale."
Bang.
The single suppressed shot echoed softly over the rainy tarmac.
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Adrian lowered his pistol as Volkov collapsed backward into the puddles, lifeless.
He clicked his comms earpiece. "Vincent. Secure the perimeter. It’s over."
