Chapter 5 - The Trap Springs
Dante killed the Mercedes engine and signaled silently to Leo in the passenger seat.
“Take the rear alley exit,” Dante whispered, his hand sliding inside his wool coat to grip the checkered grip of his customized Sig Sauer. “Do not let a single one of them leave the building alive. If they resist, shoot to kill.”
“Got it,” Leo muttered, slipping out into the freezing rain like a shadow.
Dante stepped out of the driver's side, his boots making no sound against the wet asphalt. The storm masked the sound of his approach as he crossed the empty street and slipped through the heavy glass-and-steel side door the tactical team had forced open.
The interior of the bank lobby was bathed in an eerie, dim green emergency light. The heavy marble floors echoed faintly with the distant, rhythmic whine of a high-frequency thermal drill cutting through thick steel downstairs in the basement safety deposit vault.
Dante drew his weapon, flicking off the safety with a sharp, metallic click.
He moved with the silent, predatory grace of a man who had survived three syndicate wars. Descending the grand marble staircase toward the subterranean vault level, the smell of ozone and melting metal grew stronger.
At the bottom of the stairs, the massive circular steel door of the main vault stood ajar.
Inside the vault, two men in tactical black gear were frantically sweeping stacks of documents and ledger books into a canvas duffel bag. Standing behind them, leaning casually against a shelf of safe deposit boxes with a silver-plated suppressor resting in his right hand, was a tall, lean man with dark hair slicked back from a sharp, aristocratic face.
He wasn't wearing a mask.
He looked up as Dante stepped into the vault’s threshold, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips.
“Welcome, Dante,” the man said smoothly, his voice carrying an effortless, mocking charm. “I was wondering when the king of the underworld would finally show up to watch his kingdom burn.”
Dante leveled his Sig Sauer straight between the man’s eyes, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“Julian’s little brother,” Dante said, his voice a lethal whisper that vibrated off the steel walls. “Marcus Vane. I thought we buried you with the rest of your trash family seven years ago.”
Marcus Vane didn't flinch. Instead, his smile widened, and he slowly raised his silenced pistol, pointing it not at Dante, but toward the dark corridor leading back to the elevator bank.
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“You didn't bury us deep enough, Dante,” Marcus murmured softly. “And besides... your accountant didn't tell you the best part. We didn't just come back for our ledger.”
Before Dante could pull the trigger, the heavy steel security gate behind him slammed down with an earth-shattering crash, plunging the vault into sudden, pitch-black darkness.
