Chapter 4 - THE SIEGE OF CHICAGO
The smoke drifted lazily across the ruined living room, curling around the shattered crystal chandelier and the expensive artwork riddled with stray bullet holes.
Behind the grand piano, Hector Valez spat a curse in Spanish, his face dark with fury. He hadn't survived the brutal cartel wars of Sonora to be ambushed in a Chicago mansion by a single man. He jabbed two fingers toward his remaining guard by the doorway.
"Flank him!" Valez barked. "Take the side corridor! Cut him down!"
The guard didn't hesitate. He scrambled up from behind a marble pillar, bringing his MP5 up to his shoulder, charging toward the side archway that led to the library.
PFFT! PFFT!
The suppressed Glock in Dante’s left hand spoke twice with deadly precision. The guard’s chest exploded in a spray of dark red, his momentum carrying him forward into a glass display case of antique swords. The glass shattered with a deafening crash, burying the dead man under a cascade of steel and crystal.
"Valez!" Leo shouted from behind the sofa, his voice cracking with panic. "He’s got the house locked down! The smart doors are sealed! We’re trapped in here!"
"Shut up, you idiot!" Valez snarled, peering around the edge of the piano. He raised his weapon and fired three rapid shots toward the doorway.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The bullets chewed into the plaster wall where Dante had been standing a split second before. But Dante was already gone, moving with the ghostly speed of a predator who owned every square inch of timber, stone, and steel in the estate.
On the floor behind the sofa, Camila was trembling violently. The pristine, untouchable facade was completely gone. Her designer dress was stained with spilled whiskey and dust, her elegant hair undone, hanging in matted blonde strands across her pale face.
"Leo..." she whimpered, grabbing the sleeve of his suit jacket. "Get me out of here. Call the extraction team. Call the other units!"
"There are no other units, Cami!" Leo hissed, his face twisted in a mask of desperation and rage. He grabbed her by the collar, shaking her slightly. "Valez’s men were the backup! If Dante took out the perimeter guards, we are completely on our own!"
"Then kill him!" she screamed, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. "You said you were stronger than him! You said you built half this syndicate with your own hands!"
"I did build it!" Leo roared back, his eyes bulging. "And I'm going to finish it!"
Leo drew his own weapon—a custom nickel-plated Beretta 92FS—and lunged upward from behind the sofa, firing blindly toward the shadows near the fireplace.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The bullets chipped the marble mantelpiece, sending sparks and stone fragments flying.
Suddenly, a heavy mahogany dining chair came flying through the air from the darkened library archway, crashing down onto the coffee table with explosive force, smashing the remaining glasses and the manila folders containing the transfer documents into a million pieces.
"Looking for your paperwork, Leo?" Dante’s voice echoed from the darkness, smooth and mocking.
Leo froze, his breath hitching in his throat. He aimed his Beretta at the dark archway, his finger twitching on the trigger. "Dante! Come out and face me like a man! Stop hiding in the dark like a rat!"
"A rat?" Dante stepped out from the shadows of the library archway.
He wasn't hiding. He stood tall in the center of the ruined room, the overhead emergency lights casting long, dramatic shadows across his hard, unyielding features. His coat was open, revealing the twin pistols ready in his hands. He looked less like a businessman and more like an executioner summoned straight from hell.
"For twenty years, Leo, you sat at my right hand," Dante said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper as he walked slowly toward them. "I gave you money, power, respect, and a brother. And you repaid me by plotting with a cartel butcher and a woman who couldn't even wait for the body to get cold."
Leo’s face flushed red with a mix of shame and furious pride. He raised his Beretta, leveling it directly at Dante’s chest. "You always treated me like a second-class citizen, Dante! You took all the credit while I did all the dirty work in the streets! I built the muscle of this family while you sat in your ivory tower playing diplomat!"
"And yet," Dante stopped ten feet away, his eyes locked onto Leo’s trembling trigger finger, "here you are, hiding behind a couch in my house, begging a cartel thug to save your skin."
"Enough talk!" Valez roared from behind the piano. He popped up, bringing his rifle up to fire at Dante’s back.
Dante didn't turn around. With lightning speed, he whipped his right hand up and fired his Sig Sauer once.
CRACK!
The bullet caught Valez squarely in the right wrist. The cartel enforcer screamed in agony as his rifle dropped from his shattered hand, clattering uselessly against the hardwood floor. Before Valez could reach for his backup knife with his left hand, Dante swept his left-hand Glock around and fired a second round into Valez’s left knee.
Valez collapsed with a sickening crunch, howling in pain, clutching his shattered leg as he bled out onto the Persian rug.
The room fell dead silent, save for the heavy rain lashing the broken windows and Valez’s ragged groans of agony.
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Leo Marino stared at the bleeding cartel leader, then back at Dante. The color completely drained from his face. His hands began to shake violently, the nickel-plated Beretta feeling suddenly heavy and useless in his grip.
"Your move, Leo," Dante said quietly, stepping closer. "End it or drop it."
