Chapter 8 - The Traitor's Reckoning The heavy iron door of the lower vault stood half-open, casting a harsh yellow beam of light across the damp stone floor. Inside, Viktor Vance stood holding a heavy-barreled revolver to Marco Ferrante’s head. Marco was tied to a steel chair, his face bruised and bleeding, but a defiant smirk remained on his lips.
"Give me the master ledger codes, Marco," Viktor snarled, pressing the barrel harder against Marco's temple. "Dante’s empire is burning above us. The boy is already dead. You have nothing left to protect."
"Go to hell, Viktor," Marco rasped, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the polished concrete. "You think you can outsmart Dante? He built this fortress out of bodies. You're just another corpse waiting for a grave."
"Is that right?" a voice echoed from the shadows of the stone doorway.
Viktor spun around, his gun swinging toward the entrance—but Dante was already moving. A single shot cracked through the confined space of the vault, striking Viktor’s weapon hand and sending the revolver clattering across the floor with a deafening clatter.
Viktor screamed, clutching his shattered wrist as he stumbled backward against the concrete wall. Dante stepped into the light, his face carved from stone, his eyes burning with an incandescent fury that made even the hardened regional captains shrink away into the corners.
"You broke into my house, Viktor," Dante said softly, stepping closer. "You threatened my blood. And worst of all, you mistook my silence for weakness."
"Dante—wait!" Viktor gasped, pressing his back against the cold stone. "We can make a deal! The commission will tear you apart if you execute a founding captain!"
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"The commission doesn't exist anymore," Dante said, raising his pistol. "There is only me."
The gunshot shook the vault walls, echoing out into the iron-reinforced corridors of the estate.
