Chapter 8 - THE RIVER SIT-DOWN
The abandoned glass factory near the Hudson River stood like a rusted skeleton against the grey afternoon sky.
At 2:00 p.m., four black armored SUVs pulled onto the concrete apron outside the main warehouse. Ten heavily armed Voss soldiers stepped out, securing the perimeter with tactical rifles.
Dante Voss stepped out of the lead vehicle. He wore a pristine black suit, a charcoal overcoat draped over his shoulders, his face an unreadable mask of ice.
Inside the glass factory, Arthur Ashworth sat at a wooden table set up in the center of the vast, dusty room. Behind him stood Marcus Whitlock and six private military contractors holding hidden weapons beneath their long coats.
Dante walked into the factory, his footsteps echoing against the concrete floors. He walked alone, stopping ten feet from Arthur’s table.
“You’re late, Voss,” Arthur said smoothly, leaning his hands on his gold-headed cane.
“I was ensuring my perimeter was clean,” Dante replied calmly, his hands tucked inside his coat pockets. “Where are the deeds?”
Arthur gestured to a thick manila envelope sitting on the table. “Right here. Full ownership of the Brooklyn waterfront terminals. Signed by my legal team. It’s worth forty million dollars, Dante.”
Dante glanced at the envelope, then raised his eyes to Arthur. “And where is the guarantee that you leave the city once the transfer is complete?”
“You have my word,” Arthur lied easily. “Now... where is Elena?”
Dante smiled—a dark, chilling expression that made Marcus Whitlock take a involuntary step back.
“Elena isn't here, Arthur,” Dante said softly.
Arthur’s face hardened, his cold composure cracking. “We had a deal, Voss. You bring the girl, I give you the docks.”
“I don't make deals with child abusers,” Dante stated flatly.
Marcus Whitlock stepped forward, his face flushed with sudden rage. “She’s an Ashworth! She belongs to us! You have no right to hold her!”
Dante’s eyes shifted to Marcus, locking onto the younger man with lethal focus.
“She doesn't belong to anyone, Marcus,” Dante said, his voice dropping an octave. “Especially not to a cowardly politician who uses his fists on defenseless women.”
Marcus reached inside his jacket for his firearm—
THWIP! THWIP!
Two silenced shots echoed through the warehouse!
Before Marcus’s hand could clear his holster, two red spots bloomed cleanly on his knees! Marcus screamed in agony, collapsing onto the concrete floor, clutching his shattered legs!
Arthur Ashworth stood up violently, reaching for his cane—but Dante had already drawn his custom pistol, aiming it directly between Arthur’s eyes.
Out of the shadows of the factory rafters, twenty Voss snipers adjusted their laser sights, red dots painting the chests of all six of Arthur’s military contractors.
“Move a single finger,” Dante warned calmly, “and every man in this room dies in two seconds.”
Arthur froze, staring at the red laser dot glowing on his crisp white shirt. “Voss... you can't do this! The Commission will destroy you for breaking a sit-down!”
“The Commission gave me permission an hour ago,” Dante revealed smoothly. “When I showed them the medical reports of Elena’s injuries and the financial records of your illegal offshore accounts, they stripped you of your seat. You are alone, Arthur.”
Dante stepped forward, pressing the cold barrel of his gun against Arthur’s forehead.
“You are going to sign over the waterfront,” Dante commanded softly. “Then you are going to sign over your entire estate to Elena. And then you and your daughter Vivienne are going to take a one-way flight to a non-extradition country and never set foot in America again.”
“And if I refuse?” Arthur whispered, his hands trembling against his cane.
May you like
Dante leaned in, his icy eyes burning into Arthur’s soul.
“If you refuse,” Dante whispered, “I will let Marcus die on this floor, and I will personally hunt down every person who ever carried your name.”
