Chapter 7 - The Final Strike at Midnight
By 11:30 PM, the strike units were in position across three key industrial warehouses in Brooklyn and Queens operated by Viktor Volkov’s front companies.
Dante didn't stay behind at the manor. Despite my gentle protests, he insisted on leading the primary assault team personally, refusing to delegate the final destruction of the threat to our family.
I watched from the master suite’s secure monitor feed as Dante’s armored vehicle pulled up outside the main Odessa stronghold—an abandoned shipping depot lit by flickering security halogen lamps.
The feed showed thermal imaging and tactical body-cam footage.
“Moving in,” Dante’s voice crackled clearly over the encrypted tactical headset linked to my room.
The breach was surgical and silent. Caruso enforcers neutralized perimeter guards with synchronized precision before the Odessa lookouts even realized they had been compromised.
Inside the warehouse office, Viktor Volkov himself appeared on the infrared monitor, scrambling to feed documents into an industrial shredder as heavy footsteps echoed down the concrete hallway.
The steel reinforced door of the office blew inward with a single explosive charge.
Dante stepped through the smoke, his black tactical vest fitted over his tailored shirt, a suppressed automatic rifle held at port arms.
Volkov dropped his shredder handle, raising his hands slowly, a nervous sweat gleaming on his forehead. “Caruso… I didn't expect you to handle field operations personally. Especially on your wedding night.”
Dante walked slowly across the room, stopping two paces away from the desk. He didn't raise his voice, but the acoustic resonance of his tone carried a terrifying finality.
“You touched my wife. You funded my aunt’s treason. And you planned an attack on our district,” Dante said, resting the barrel of his rifle against the edge of the desk. “In our world, Viktor, mistakes of that magnitude require a permanent correction.”
“We can negotiate—” Volkov stammered, backing up against the filing cabinet. “A percentage of the shipping lanes—exclusive cargo rights—”
“You have nothing left to trade,” Dante interrupted coldly. He motioned to Marco, who entered behind him carrying a heavy titanium briefcase and a stack of federal indictment files compiled by Adrian Romano.
“Within the hour,” Dante continued, “federal authorities will receive encrypted evidence packets detailing every drug shipment, human trafficking ring, and money-laundering account tied to your syndicate across three continents. Your empire is finished, Volkov. Legally and financially.”
“And physically,” Marco added with a grim smile, as two enforcers cuffed Volkov and dragged him toward the exit.
Dante pressed the comms link on his collar. “Sophia, are you watching?”
May you like
I leaned closer to the bedroom monitor, speaking softly into the receiver. “I see you, Dante. Come home.”
“I’m on my way,” he replied, his voice softening instantly.
