Chapter 6 - RETRIBUTION IN THE RAIN
Rain lashed the corrugated tin roof of Petrov’s abandoned lumber mill in Kalispell. Inside, twelve armed enforcers sat around barrels of burning scrap wood, laughing over stolen shipments of grain and high-grade timber.
At the head of the warehouse stood Victor Petrov—a sneering, sadistic Russian mobster who had terrorized the northern border for two decades.
"Moretti is finished," Petrov barked, taking a swig of vodka. "The mighty Don is hiding in his mountain castle, crying over his dead brother and playing nursemaid to a scarred stray! Tomorrow, we take his railyards!"
CRASH.
The front steel roll-up door was violently ripped from its tracks as an armored Dodge Ram smashed through the barricade, spraying twisted metal and glass across the concrete.
Before the dust could settle, gunfire erupted.
Dante moved through the smoke like the reaper himself. Armed with a suppressed tactical shotgun, he fired with clinical, terrifying speed. Men dropped into the sawdust before they could raise their rifles. Marco and six Moretti operators flanked the perimeter, cutting off every escape route with merciless efficiency.
Within four minutes, the warehouse went dead silent, save for the patter of rain and the agonized groans of Petrov’s surviving enforcers.
Petrov scrambled through the sawdust toward a back exit, his pistol trembling in his hand.
A heavy boot came down on Petrov’s wrist, shattering the bones with an audible crunch. Petrov shrieked, dropping the weapon as he was kicked onto his back.
Dante stood over him, rain dripping from the brim of his coat, the barrel of his sidearm smoking in the cold air.
"Dante! Wait!" Petrov wheezed, clutching his ruined wrist, blood pooling around his designer jacket. "It was business! Just business! Take the rail lines back! I’ll pay reparations!"
Dante stepped on Petrov’s chest, leaning down until his eyes bore into the shivering mobster.
"You stole my cargo, Victor. That was business," Dante whispered, the coldness in his voice chilling Petrov worse than the Montana winter. "You laid hands on my drivers. That was an infraction. But you opened your mouth about Eloise Crawford."
Petrov’s eyes dilated in absolute terror. "Who... who is she to you? She's just a common nobody with a burned neck!"
Dante cocked the hammer of his weapon, pressing the cold steel between Petrov’s eyes.
"She is the woman who saved my brother's soul," Dante said softly. "And she is the only person on this earth who holds my heart."
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A single shot echoed across the Kalispell mountains.
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