Chapter 6 - The Breach & The Rescue Mission
BOOM!
Four tactical flashbang grenades dropped through the shattered roof skylights, exploding twenty feet above the heads of Vance’s mercenaries in a blinding flash of white light and a thunderous 130-decibel roar.
Vance’s men screamed, instantly blinded and disoriented, firing their weapons wildly into the rafters.
Dante didn't flinch. He had already dropped into a low tactical roll behind a massive steel I-beam.
In a single, fluid motion forged by years of combat, Dante drew twin suppressed handguns from beneath his wool coat.
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
Three precise shots rang out through the smoke and dust.
Two of Vance’s guards dropped instantly to the floorboards, their weapons clattering uselessly against the stone.
From the high rafters above, Gabriel and four elite Marino tactical operators rappelled down heavy black ropes like dark phantoms, landing gracefully on the concrete floor, their assault rifles barking suppressed fire.
Pfft-pfft-pfft!
The remaining mercenaries were eliminated in less than eight seconds with cold, military-grade efficiency.
Amid the smoke, flash powder, and chaos, Lorenzo Vance panicked. He scrambled backward toward the rear exit, pulling a small silver revolver from his coat and aiming it straight at Anna’s head.
“DANTE!” Vance shrieked, his voice cracking in terror. “STAY BACK OR I BLOW HER BRAINS OUT!”
Anna closed her eyes, preparing for the end.
Dante stepped out from behind the steel beam. He didn't rush. He didn't panic.
He walked toward Vance with dark, steady, rhythmic footsteps, his gun raised, his eyes locked onto his former mentor like an unstoppable force of nature.
“You’re shaking, Lorenzo,” Dante observed coldly.
“I’ll kill her, Dante! I swear to God I’ll kill her!” Vance screamed, holding Anna by her hair, pulling her head back as he pressed the barrel of his revolver against her temple.
“No, you won't,” Dante said smoothly, continuing his slow advance. “Because you know what happens if a single droplet of her blood touches this floor.”
“What? What happens?!” Vance yelled frantically.
“I won't kill you,” Dante whispered, stopping ten feet away. “I will hand you over to Ethan. A ten-year-old boy who spent three hours freezing in the dark because of you.”
Vance’s eyes widened in utter disbelief. “Ethan? The boy survived?!”
“He survived,” Dante said softly. “And he’s sitting in my home right now, eating warm soup, waiting for his mother to come home.”
Anna looked at Dante, fresh tears cascading down her pale cheeks. “Ethan... my baby... he’s safe?”
“He’s safe, Anna,” Dante promised her, his voice turning infinitely gentle for a split second. “Lucy is safe too. They are both waiting for you.”
Taking advantage of Vance’s moment of sheer shock and distraction, Anna didn't hesitate.
She slammed her heavy heel down onto Vance’s foot with all her remaining strength, simultaneously throwing her head back into Vance’s nose.
CRACK!
Vance howled in pain, stumbling backward, his gun hand slipping.
In that microsecond, Dante moved with terrifying speed.
He closed the distance between them, grabbed Vance’s wrist, twisted it upward until the bone snapped, and disarmed him in a single fluid motion.
Dante slammed Vance face-first onto the concrete floor, pressing his heavy leather boot directly onto the back of Vance’s neck.
Vance gasped for air, thrashing uselessly against the overwhelming weight of the mob boss. “Dante... please... we were brothers... I made you who you are!”
Dante leaned down, his face inches from the defeated old tyrant.
“You made me a killer, Lorenzo,” Dante growled into his ear. “But she made me a father.”
Dante raised the butt of his heavy steel handgun and struck Vance precisely behind the ear, knocking him instantly into unconsciousness.
“Gabriel!” Dante barked over his shoulder.
Gabriel stepped out of the smoke, pulling heavy plastic zip-ties from his tactical vest. “Boss?”
“Package him up. Hand him over to the Federal Bureau of Investigation alongside all financial records from his Philadelphia operations. Let him spend the rest of his pathetic life in a maximum-security prison.”
“Yes, sir!”
Dante immediately turned, pulling a heavy tactical combat knife from his belt. He dropped to his knees in front of Anna.
With two quick, careful slices, he severed the thick nylon ropes binding her wrists and ankles.
Anna’s body slumped forward from sheer exhaustion and trauma.
Dante caught her in his broad arms before she could touch the cold concrete, pulling her soft, trembling frame tightly against his broad, armored chest.
“I’ve got you,” Dante whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he wrapped his heavy wool coat around her shivering body. “I’ve got you, Anna. You’re safe now.”
Anna buried her face into the crook of his neck, her hands clutching his suit lapels tightly, sobbing softly against his collar.
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“My children...” she choked out.
“They are waiting at home,” Dante murmured, lifting her gently into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. “Let’s go home.”
