Chapter 4 - The Butcher of Brooklyn
Ilya Kolov sat behind a massive oak desk in his penthouse office overlooking the container yard. He was a thick-necked, heavy-set man with cold, dead eyes and fingers covered in heavy gold rings. A half-empty glass of vodka sat beside a tactical map of Manhattan.
When the heavy mahogany office doors pushed open, Kolov didn't look up immediately. He assumed it was one of his lieutenants bringing a status report on the girl.
"Did the message get delivered?" Kolov asked in a raspy, accented voice, swirling his drink. "Does Castellano understand that his little house cleaners don't wear his colors on our streets?"
"The message was delivered, Ilya," a calm, chilling voice answered from across the room.
Kolov’s head snapped up.
Dominic Castellano stood leaning against the doorframe, hands casually tucked into his trouser pockets, looking around the opulent office with mild boredom. Marco stood guard by the door, blocking the only exit.
Kolov’s face flushed red with a mixture of shock and suppressed rage. He slammed his glass down, liquid splashing across the desk, and lunged for the drawer where his pistol rested.
"You have a lot of nerve walking into my—"
Click.
Before Kolov’s fingers touched the drawer, a laser dot danced directly across the center of his forehead. Outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, red laser sights flickered across the glass—dozens of them, trained on him from the dark rooftops surrounding the pier.
Kolov froze, his hand hovering inches from the handle. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Your reflexes are slowing down, Ilya," Dominic said smoothly, walking toward the desk. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't pull a weapon. He simply pulled out a leather-bound chair opposite Kolov and sat down, resting his elbows on the polished wood.
Kolov swallowed hard, forcing a harsh, nervous laugh. "You think you can walk in here, Castellano? You think your little rooftop tricks scare me? You assaulted my men—"
"Your men assaulted a nineteen-year-old girl who was working three jobs to pay for her dying mother’s medical treatments," Dominic interrupted, his tone dropping into a freezing, razor-sharp register. "A girl who scrubbed my floors, cooked my meals, and never asked for a single charity handout."
Kolov sneered. "She wore your crest. She walked on my docks. It was a tax—"
Before Kolov could finish his sentence, Dominic reached across the desk, grabbed him by the lapels of his silk shirt, and hauled him across the mahogany surface with terrifying, sudden strength. Kolov gasped, his eyes bulging as Dominic’s face came inches from his own.
"You thought hurting someone under my protection would make me hesitate," Dominic whispered, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying intensity. "Instead, you reminded me of why they stopped whispering my name in New York years ago."
Dominic let go, shoving Kolov back into his leather chair so hard the mahogany creaked in protest.
"Check your phone, Ilya," Dominic added, brushing imaginary dust off his cuffs.
Kolov’s hands trembled as he reached for his encrypted smartphone on the desk. He tapped the screen to open his primary corporate banking app.
The screen flashed red.
ACCOUNT BALANCE: $0.00
Kolov stared at the screen, his face turning the color of ash. "No... no, that's impossible. That's thirty million dollars—"
"Was thirty million dollars," Dominic corrected softly, standing up and buttoning his jacket. "It’s currently funding cancer research and prosthetic limbs for children. Consider it a late charitable donation on your behalf."
Kolov lunged forward, wild-eyed and desperate, knocking his vodka glass to the floor where it shattered into a thousand pieces. "You ruined me! I'll kill you! I'll burn your whole estate down—!"
Dominic paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder with a look of supreme, chilling indifference.
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"You have twenty-four hours to leave New York, Ilya," Dominic said quietly. "Because tomorrow, the federal authorities are going to audit your shipping containers. And unlike me, they won't leave you alive to complain about the paperwork."
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