Chapter 15 - THE BUTCHER’S END
"I didn't come here to steal your empire, Voronov," Dante’s voice rang out across the echoing ballroom, cold, steady, and carrying an absolute, terrifying finality. "I came to burn it to the ground."
Voronov raised his Stechkin, firing blindly into the marble pillar where Dante stood. Chipped stone and white dust exploded into the air, showering over Dante’s shoulders. But Dante didn't flinch. He leaned out from behind the stone cover with calculated calm, squeezing off a single, perfectly aimed shot that caught Voronov’s pistol hand, sending the weapon clattering down the grand marble staircase.
Voronov screamed in agony, clutching his shattered wrist as blood gushed between his fingers. He stumbled backward, his face turning pale with sudden, unadulterated terror as Mateo and two enforcers emerged from the shadows, their submachine guns locked dead on his chest.
Before Mateo could reach him, a shadow detached itself from the balcony drapes.
Clara had scaled the side scaffolding used for the lighting rigs, moving with the silent, agile grace of a professional acrobat. She dropped lightly onto the balcony platform directly behind Voronov, her stiletto heel coming down hard on the back of his knee, buckling the massive Russian warlord and sending him crashing hard onto the carpeted floor.
Voronov gasped for air, looking up in sheer disbelief as Clara knelt over him, pressing the cold barrel of her suppressed pistol directly against the center of his forehead.
"You ruined my brother’s life," Clara whispered, her voice dropping into a register so chillingly calm that even Mateo paused in his tracks. "You tried to burn down everything I built. And worst of all, you interrupted my husband's dinner."
Voronov’s lips trembled, his eyes darting frantically between Clara and Dante, who was now walking slowly up the grand staircase. "Wait... we can make a deal... all my accounts in Zurich... the entire shipping network..."
"There are no more deals, Pyotr," Dante said coldly, standing over the fallen warlord and looking down as if Voronov were nothing more than an insect beneath his boot. "Your empire belongs to Moretti now. And your life belongs to the past."
A single muffled thump echoed across the silent balcony.
Voronov’s body went instantly limp, his scarred face freezing in an expression of permanent shock.
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Clara stood up slowly, sliding her pistol back into her garter belt, smoothing down the front of her crimson silk gown with practiced elegance. She looked at Dante, her dark eyes flashing with a fierce, victorious fire.
"Well," she breathed, wiping a speck of dust from her sleeve. "That’s one way to end the first act."
