Chapter 33
The Cassano lieutenant let out a short, arrogant laugh, his rosy cheeks flushing with unearned confidence. "Domenico Falcone," the man said, his American accent loud and grating against the ambient sound of the ocean. "My Don sends his regards. We heard you cleaned house in this city. We decided to bring our business here. We are taking over warehouses three through seven. Consider it a mandatory partnership." Domenico did not flinch. He stood perfectly still in his tailored dark three-piece suit, the crisp ocean breeze shifting the loose strands of dark hair on his forehead. "You do not dictate terms. In my city," Domenico whispered. The controlled pauses in his deep, raspy voice carried a terrifying weight. "Turn your ship around. If a single crate touches my concrete, I will sink it." The lieutenant sneered, gesturing subtly to his men. "You brought three guards to a pier full of my shooters, Falcone. You aren't in a position to make demands." Domenico’s eyes narrowed into dark, lethal slits. He had already calculated the trajectories, the sightlines, and the exact placement of every hostile on the dock. "I brought three men," Domenico said softly, "to carry your bodies back to your ship." Before the lieutenant could even process the threat, Domenico moved with blinding, explosive speed. He drew his matte-black, suppressed sidearm from his shoulder holster. In a fraction of a second, he fired three flawless shots. The lieutenant and his two closest guards dropped instantly to the concrete, neutralized by perfect, surgical headshots. The remaining Cassano mercenaries shouted in panic, scrambling to raise their automatic rifles.
