Chapter 7 - The Reckoning in Queens
The final piece of the puzzle needed to be placed before Sky could ever truly be safe. Two days after the warehouse skirmish, Roman decided it was time to settle accounts with Dante once and for all.
Dante’s primary stronghold in Queens—a fortified brick social club behind an unassuming butcher shop—was surrounded by rain-soaked asphalt and shadowed by the elevated subway tracks.
Roman didn't bring an army this time. He brought only Viktor and three black SUVs that blocked the front and rear exits of the block before midnight.
The heavy oak doors of the social club splintered inward under a single well-placed breaching charge.
Dante sat at a poker table in the back room surrounded by half a dozen armed bodyguards, whiskey glass in hand. When the smoke cleared and Roman Duque stepped into the room alone, the color drained entirely from Dante’s face.
"Duque..." Dante stammered, standing up so fast his chair tipped over backward. "This is a misunderstanding. We had an agreement—"
"You broke the agreement the moment you sent your men near my terminal," Roman said, his voice slicing through the tense air like a razor. He walked slowly toward the table, his hands resting casually in his pockets, exuding an aura of absolute, terrifying dominance.
Dante’s bodyguards raised their weapons, but Viktor stepped through the doorway behind Roman, his submachine gun locked dead center on Dante’s chest.
"Lower your pieces, or I paint this room with your boss's brains," Viktor rumbled.
The weapons lowered.
Roman stopped right across the poker table from Dante, leaning forward slightly on his knuckles. "Your syndicate is dismantled, Dante. Your accounts in the Caymans are currently being frozen by my auditors, and your assets in Queens will be transferred to the Duque family holdings by tomorrow morning. You are going to pack a single bag, board a cargo freighter to South America, and never set foot in this country again."
"You can't do that!" Dante snarled, panic overriding his fear. "I have connections in the commission! I have judges in my pocket!"
"Your judges belong to me now," Roman whispered coldly. He reached across the table, grabbed Dante by the collar of his silk shirt, and dragged him forward until their noses were inches apart. "And if you ever breathe a word about Sky Sterling, or if I ever hear your name whispered in the five boroughs again, I won't send a hit squad. I will hunt you down myself."
Dante swallowed hard, trembling violently, and nodded.
May you like
Roman shoved him back into his chair with contempt, straightened his tie, and turned his back on the broken king of Queens.
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