Chapter 11 - The Trap Snaps
The remaining tactical operator spun around with lightning reflexes, bringing his submachine gun up to fire, but a massive black blur materialized from the darkness. Bruno the Cane Corso slammed into the operator’s side with the force of a speeding freight train, tearing the weapon from his hands and pinning him instantly to the floor with a bone-crunching thud.
Voss stumbled backward, his hand fumbling frantically inside his jacket for his spare concealed pistol. His fingers brushed cold steel, but before he could draw the weapon, a heavy shadow stepped out from the crimson strobe lights, blocking his only path to the stairwell.
Dante Marchesi stood before him. He was bleeding from his shoulder, his clothes torn and stained, but his posture was absolute, immovable, and terrifyingly calm.
“It’s over, Voss,” Dante said, his voice cutting through the ringing sirens and the howling wind.
Voss froze, his hand trembling slightly inside his jacket before slowly withdrawing empty-handed. He let out a harsh, bitter laugh, his shoulders slumping as the reality of his defeat finally settled over him.
“You can’t kill me, Dante,” Voss whispered, trying to regain a shred of his dignity. “If I die, the council destroys every asset you have left. The entire syndicate collapses into total war.”
“The syndicate already survived its worst enemy—internal rot,” Dante replied, stepping closer until he was standing inches from Voss. “I’m not going to kill you, Voss. Killing you is too easy. I’m going to let you live to watch everything you built get dismantled piece by piece by federal prosecutors.”
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Before Voss could react, heavy federal tactical boots echoed up the stairwell doors, and bright tactical flashlights flooded the lobby with blinding white light.
“FBI! Federal law enforcement! Nobody move!” a voice roared from the corridor.
