Chapter 6 - The Trap SprungThe warehouse two miles north of the rail yard didn't look like a criminal stronghold from the outside; it looked like an ordinary shipping depot bearing the faded logo of a logistics firm.
Inside, however, it was an armory.
Alessio kicked the reinforced steel door open with a single, brutal strike of his boot. The door buckled inward, crashing against the concrete floor inside.
Dominic and four armed guards flooded the room, subduing the three remaining Valkov guards in less ten seconds without a single shot fired.
At the center of the warehouse, tied to a heavy metal chair, sat Viktor Valkov himself—an older man with silver hair, cold blue eyes, and a tailored suit that was now stained with dirt and sweat.
Alessio walked in slowly, his boots clicking against the concrete. Giana followed right behind him, her laptop clutched in one hand like a weapon.
Valkov let out a harsh, bitter laugh, spitting a drop of blood onto the floor.
“Ferraro,” Valkov rasped in a thick Eastern European accent. “You think destroying my shipping lanes wins you the city? My associates in Zurich are already wiring capital to a dozen other syndicates. You can't kill an idea, boy.”
Alessio didn't smile. He walked up to the chair, leaned down, and grabbed Valkov by the expensive lapels of his suit, hauling him half an inch off the seat.
“I don't need to kill an idea, Viktor,” Alessio whispered, his voice dangerously soft. “I just need to starve it.”
He looked back over his shoulder. “Giana.”
Step by step, Giana walked up to the center of the room. She placed her laptop down on a nearby metal crate, opened it, and turned the screen toward Valkov.
The screen displayed a complex, cascading series of financial transfers, asset seizures, and encrypted account numbers.
“As of four minutes ago,” Giana said, her voice clear, cold, and echoing off the metal walls of the warehouse, “every single offshore account belonging to the Valkov Group has been flagged by federal regulatory bodies and frozen under international anti-money laundering statutes.”
Valkov’s face drained of color. His eyes bulged as he stared at the screen. “That’s impossible... those accounts are encrypted behind military-grade firewalls—”
“Your firewalls were built by programmers who charge by the hour,” Giana interrupted smoothly, adjusting her glasses. “I built mine out of pure spite and three years of boredom while managing Mr. Ferraro’s portfolio. Your entire syndicate is officially broke.”
Valkov slumped back in the chair, defeated, the light completely dying from his eyes.
May you like
Alessio let go of his lapels, standing up straight. He looked at Giana, a look of profound, terrifying devotion flashing across his dark features.
“And that,” Alessio said quietly to Valkov, “is what happens when you threaten what’s mine.”
