Chapter 11 - The Beast of Seattle Unleashed
I froze, terror seizing every muscle in my body.
“Where is Mrs. Chen?” I demanded, backing toward the car.
“The old Chinese woman is sitting comfortably in her luxury suite in Bellevue, completely unaware of your stupidity,” Sergei sneered, raising a silenced pistol. “We simply tapped her phone line three days ago and fed her audio into our voice synthesizer. And you walked straight into the slaughterhouse like a good little lamb.”
Jake stepped forward, his eyes bloodshot, clutching a heavy iron wrench. “You thought your mafia prince could protect you forever, Ava? Look at you! You left his fortress all on your own!”
“Jake, don't do this,” I pleaded, backing away until my shoulders hit the cold steel of the container. “Think about Emma! She’s your daughter!”
“Emma is a twelve-million-dollar paycheck!” Jake screamed, rain streaming down his manic face. “Once you sign the power of attorney papers in Sergei’s briefcase, you and Castellano are history! And I’m flying to Monaco a rich man!”
“You won’t fly anywhere, Jake,” a voice echoed through the warehouse.
The voice did not come from human vocal cords; it sounded like thunder rumbling from the depths of the earth.
Every man on the pier froze.
The heavy corrugated metal doors of the warehouse suddenly exploded inward with a deafening screech of tearing steel.
A massive, matte-black armored military truck smashed through the barrier at sixty miles per hour, sending wooden pallets and steel drums flying into the air.
Before the debris even hit the ground, four black SUVs screeched onto the wet concrete, boxing in every single exit.
From the lead truck stepped Luca Castellano.
He wore no coat against the freezing rain. He wore a black combat shirt, tactical armor, and held a heavy automatic shotgun in his hands. His face was entirely devoid of humanity—he was an ancient, unstoppable god of vengeance unleashed upon mortals who had dared touch what was his.
Beside him, Dante and twenty elite Castellano operators poured out of the vehicles, weapons raised with military precision.
“Did you really think,” Luca spoke, his voice cutting through the storm with chilling, absolute authority, “that my wife’s vehicle wasn't equipped with military-grade GPS tracking and an automatic distress beacon the second it left the perimeter?”
Sergei Volkov’s face drained of all color. He raised his pistol toward my head. “Take one more step, Castellano, and I blow her brains across this dock!”
Luca didn't slow his stride by an inch.
“You shoot her, Volkov,” Luca said calmly, walking steadily through the rain, “and I will spend the next forty years hunting down every person who shares your last name on the face of this earth.”
A Castellano sniper stationed on top of the distant crane fired a single suppressed shot.
Thwip!
The bullet shattered Sergei Volkov’s right shoulder. Sergei screamed in agony, dropping his weapon as blood sprayed across the rusted container.
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“Take them!” Dante roared.
Chaos erupted across the pier.
