Chapter 6 - The Sniper’s Choice
The silenced pistol flew out of Rostov’s hand in a shower of sparks as a high-velocity 7.62 round punched straight through the steel railing inches from his knuckles. Rostov shrieked, clutching his bleeding, mangled hand to his chest as he stumbled backward against the wet iron grating. High above us on the apex of Crane Tower Seven, a single red laser dot flickered briefly against the dark sky before locking directly onto the center of Rostov’s forehead. My sniper detail—elite ghosts pulled straight from my private security division—had been in position since midnight. “You stepped onto the wrong dock, Viktor,” I said, stepping forward until my boots hovered directly over the edge of the gantry, looking down at my bleeding rival. Rostov dropped to his knees, the freezing wind tearing at his wet hair, his arrogance entirely replaced by the cold, sweating panic of a man staring down the barrel of his own mortality. “Vance—wait!” Rostov choked out, spitting blood onto the metal. “We can negotiate! The international maritime routes—the black-market oil contracts—they’re all yours! Just let me walk away!” I didn't answer immediately. I took a slow, deliberate puff of my cigar, letting the sweet smoke drift out into the freezing night air. “You think I care about your oil contracts, Viktor? You broke the one rule that matters in this city. You disturbed the dead.” I turned my head slightly toward Camilla, who was huddled beneath the heavy red silk cloak, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as she watched her syndicate partner bleed out on the cold steel below. “Tell me, Camilla,” I whispered smoothly, “did Viktor promise you a share of the family trust once my mother’s vault was opened?” Camilla sobbed uncontrollably, pressing her face against her knees. “He said... he said we’d control the entire eastern seaboard together... that your empire was built on lies...” “My empire was built on blood, steel, and absolute loyalty,” I interrupted, my voice hardening into solid granite. “Two things you and your Russian friend clearly know nothing about.” I raised two fingers. Marcus instantly barked an order into his comms unit. Two armed enforcers stepped out from the shadows of the upper gantry stairwell, grabbing Rostov by his soaked coat collars and hauling him roughly to his feet. “Lock him in the lower cargo hold with the rats,” I ordered coldly. “Let’s see how long his syndicate loyalty lasts when he’s sharing a cage with the bilge water.” As Rostov was dragged away, screaming curses into the dark, I turned my attention back to the trembling woman at my feet. The real game was only just beginning.
