Chapter 39
The firefight inside the penthouse was a masterclass in surgical, terrifying violence. Domenico moved through the dark, opulent corridors with the lethal grace of a ghost. The bright, high-intensity tactical lights of his operatives cut through the darkness, blinding the disorganized Cassano mercenaries. The sharp, suppressed cracks of gunfire echoed softly, dropping hostiles before they could even aim their weapons. "Clear the east wing," Domenico commanded softly, his deep, raspy voice carrying over the comms. He kicked open the heavy double doors of the master suite. Julian Cassano, a younger man with fair, rosy skin and arrogant features, was scrambling to load a golden automatic pistol. The emergency lights finally flickered on, casting a harsh, pale glow over the room. Julian looked up, his eyes widening in absolute, paralyzing horror as he saw the towering, deeply masculine figure of Domenico Falcone standing in his doorway. "Rizzano..." Julian gasped, dropping the magazine of his weapon in his panic. "How did you get up here?" Domenico slowly walked into the room, his polished leather shoes crunching over shattered glass. He did not raise his weapon. He simply stared down his high-bridged nose at the pathetic heir. "You came to my city," Domenico whispered, utilizing his controlled, deliberate pauses. "You attempted. To claim my ports." "We can negotiate!" Julian shrieked, backing away until he hit the floor-to-ceiling window. "My father will pay you billions! He will concede the entire Midwest!" "I do not negotiate," Domenico murmured, raising his sidearm with effortless, robotic precision. "I exterminate." He pulled the trigger. The flawless, suppressed shot ended the Cassano bloodline instantly.
