Chapter 15 - Breach at the Threshold
The marble corridors of the second-floor residential wing were pitch black, the smart-home automation system plunging the estate into emergency lockdown to conserve power. Dante moved through the shadows like a ghost, his footsteps completely silent against the thick Persian runner carpets.
Ahead, at the far end of the hallway near the grand staircase, three shadows emerged from the stairwell. Tactical gear, suppressed submachine guns, thermal goggles glowing faintly in the dark.
"Clear," the lead operative whispered in a harsh, accented voice, signaling his men to fan out toward the master suite.
Dante didn't wait for them to reach the door. He raised his pistol and fired twice.
The lead operative dropped instantly, a clean round through his tactical vest. The other two mercenaries scrambled for cover, diving behind a marble console table and returning blind, deafening fire down the corridor. Bullets chewed into the plaster walls and shattered antique vases, raining porcelain shrapnel across the floor.
Dante slid smoothly behind a massive stone pillar, reloading his magazine with mechanical precision. He didn't yell. He didn't issue warnings. He let the silence of the corridor work to his advantage.
One mercenary crept forward, his rifle raised, scanning the dark corners. When he passed Dante’s pillar, Dante stepped out from behind him, grabbed the man’s tactical helmet, and twisted with brutal, decisive force. The mercenary collapsed instantly, unconscious.
The last remaining operative panicked, turning his rifle toward the master suite door, finger tightening on the trigger.
Bang.
A single shot echoed down the hall. Marcus—who had been hanging back near the stairwell—watched in horror as his last operative took a round to the shoulder and dropped his weapon, collapsing onto the marble floor.
Dante stepped out from the shadows, his pistol leveled directly at Marcus’s chest. The red laser sight painted a glowing dot right between Marcus’s eyes.
"End of the line, Marcus," Dante said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying the terrifying weight of absolute finality.
Marcus slowly raised his hands, a cruel, bloody grin stretching across his scarred face. "You think you won, Rickai? You killed my men. You captured Vance. But the Consortium... we are an idea. You can't kill an idea with a bullet."
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"I don't need to kill an idea," Dante replied coldly. "I just need to bury the men who carry it."
Viktor rounded the corner with two security guards in tow, zip-tying Marcus’s hands behind his back and dragging him away toward the basement holding cells.
