Chapter 4 - THE INTERROGATION OF THE DEADWorking together with frantic synchronization, Natalie and Dante dragged the heavy oak dining table against the splintered front entrance, stacking chairs and appliances behind it. Goliath trotted back inside, shaking the rain from his massive coat, his jaws stained dark. Natalie checked her dog frantically, finding him completely unharmed—the blood on him belonged entirely to the attacker.
"Good boy, Golly," Natalie whispered, burying her face in his thick neck for a fleeting second before snapping back to reality.
Dante collapsed into a kitchen chair, pressing a hand against his side where fresh pink spots were beginning to bleed through the white pressure bandage. He pulled the tactical radio off the dead man on the porch, clicking the receiver to an encrypted frequency of the Moretti syndicate.
Static hissed from the small speaker.
“Alpha Team, status. Report. Alpha Team, do you copy?” a gravelly voice barked through the channel. It was a voice dripping with calculated cruelty and absolute power—Viktor Moretti.
Dante picked up the radio, his thumb hovering over the transmission button. He looked at Natalie, a cold, calculating grin spreading across his face.
“Alpha Team is currently indisposed, Uncle Viktor,” Dante spoke into the mic, his voice dripping with icy venom.
Silence hung heavy over the radio channel for three agonizing seconds. Then, the voice returned, colder than the Pennsylvania rain.
“Dante. You stubborn bastard. I put three feet of dirt over your chest, and you’re still breathing.”
“It takes a lot more than a shovel and a few traitors to get rid of me,” Dante replied smoothly. “You wanted the crown, Viktor. But you forgot rule number one of the Moretti family: never leave the heir breathing.”
“Enjoy your last hour, nephew,” Viktor hissed. “The cabin is surrounded. Carbon County sheriff is on my payroll, the state police are twenty miles out, and my boys have thermal scopes locked on your windows. Surrender the girl and the kid, and maybe I’ll let you die clean.”
Dante clicked the radio off and tossed it across the room. He looked at Natalie.
“He’s lying about the state police,” Dante said flatly. “If he called state cops, it brings too much heat. He’s using his own clean-up crew. Which means we have a tactical advantage: they want us quiet, which means they won't use explosives. They’ll breach through the windows.”
“We can’t hold them off forever,” Natalie said, her mind racing through the cabin’s layout. “The windows are old glass. One burst of suppressive fire and they’re inside.”
“Then we don't wait for them to breach,” Dante said, standing up with a wince of pure agony. He reached into the inner pocket of his ruined suit jacket—which he had thoughtfully brought with him—and pulled out a heavy, water-resistant tactical flash drive. He tossed it onto the kitchen counter. “That drive contains every bank account, offshore shell company, and federal indictment linking Viktor to the FBI’s most wanted list. If I don't walk out of here alive, that drive goes public, and the syndicate burns to the ground.”
May you like
Natalie stared at the small piece of plastic. “And if you do walk out of here?”
“Then I take back what’s mine,” Dante said, his gray eyes burning with cold fire. “And I make sure you and your son are set for life. A debt of blood is paid in full, Natalie. But first, we survive the night.”
