Chapter 9 - The Tables TurnIsabella stepped forward, her face twisted in a sneer of absolute malice.
“You ruined my life, Alessandro!” she shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You humiliated me in front of high society for a beggar and her bastard! Petrov is going to put a bullet in your head, and then we’re going to burn this entire city to the ground!”
Petrov smiled coldly, raising his handgun and aiming it directly at Alessandro’s chest. “Any last words, Moretti? Or should we just get straight to the execution?”
Alessandro slowly raised his right hand.
He didn't reach for his gun. He simply two-finger-tapped his lapel radio.
“Now, Marco,” Alessandro said softly.
Suddenly, every overhead light in the massive warehouse exploded into blinding, stadium-grade white glare.
Before Petrov’s guards could react, the reinforced glass windows shattered inward. A dozen smoke grenades crashed onto the concrete floor, filling the air with thick, disorienting white fog. Gunfire erupted from the catwalks—not from Petrov’s men, but from Moretti elite operatives who had infiltrated the roof ventilation systems ten minutes prior.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
In less than three seconds, Petrov’s guards crumpled to the floor, disarmed and neutralized without a single civilian casualty.
Petrov panicked, spinning around and grabbing Emma by her small jacket, shoving the barrel of his pistol against her temple.
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“Back off! Back off, or I blow her brains out right now!” Petrov screamed, coughing from the smoke.
Isabella backed away in absolute horror, realizing her triumphant revenge had just turned into a slaughterhouse.
