Chapter 45
Before the Cassano mercenary could even rest his finger on the trigger, the pristine tranquility of the garden exploded into catastrophic violence. Domenico Falcone stormed through the manicured hedges, a monolithic figure of pure, unadulterated vengeance. He did not issue a warning. He did not hesitate for a fraction of a second. Moving with terrifying, fluid grace, Domenico raised his matte-black pistol and fired two flawless, surgical shots. The suppressed weapon coughed, and the lead mercenary dropped instantly to the grass, a bullet perfectly centered in his forehead. The remaining two hostiles panicked, spinning wildly toward the sudden threat. Domenico did not seek cover. He advanced relentlessly, his polished leather shoes crushing the fallen rose petals. He fired again, executing the second man with absolute, robotic precision. The final mercenary desperately raised his rifle, but Domenico closed the distance with blinding speed. He ripped the weapon from the man's hands, the artistic tattoos on his knuckles blurring, and drove the butt of his pistol brutally into the mercenary's jaw. The man collapsed onto the pristine lawn, completely neutralized. The garden fell into a heavy, ringing silence.
