Chapter 18 - Fire and Retribution
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The reinforced doors of Volkov’s office buckled inward with a massive explosion, raining concrete and steel across the room. The shockwave threw Chloe to the floor, her ears ringing violently.
Through the thick, gray smoke, a figure emerged like a demon walking out of hell.
Dominic Russo stepped into the office. He held an assault rifle in his right hand, his face covered in soot and blood, his eyes burning with a terrifying, unholy rage. Behind him, Silas and a dozen heavily armed loyalists poured into the room, instantly securing the perimeter.
Volkov fired his revolver blindly through the smoke. The bullet grazed Dominic’s cheek, adding a fresh line of blood to his scarred face, but the King of Boston didn't even flinch.
Dominic raised his rifle and fired a single, precise shot.
The bullet shattered Volkov’s right kneecap. The Russian boss screamed in agony, collapsing behind his marble desk, his revolver clattering across the floor.
“Secure the building,” Dominic barked at Silas, his voice a lethal, vibrating hum that commanded absolute obedience over the chaos.
Dominic didn't look at the bleeding Russian. He immediately scanned the room, his eyes locking onto Chloe, who was curled on the floor, trembling in terror.
He dropped his rifle, letting it hang by its tactical sling, and rushed to her. He dropped to his knees, his bloody hands gently cupping her face.
“Are you hurt?” Dominic demanded, his dark eyes frantically searching her body for injuries. “Did he touch you?”
“I’m okay,” Chloe sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face in his tactical vest. “I’m sorry. I thought if I surrendered, he would spare you. I thought I could get the antidote.”
Dominic wrapped his arms around her tightly, crushing her to his chest. The ruthless mafia boss was trembling.
“You foolish, brave girl,” Dominic whispered into her hair, a fierce, protective emotion breaking through his hardened shell. “You never surrender to a monster. You let me kill them for you.”
He pulled back, his expression hardening back into stone. He stood up, towering over the groaning Volkov behind the desk.
“The antidote,” Dominic demanded softly, drawing his customized 1911 pistol.
“Go to hell, Russo,” Volkov spat blood onto the floor, clutching his ruined knee. “Your empire is burning. You have nothing left.”
Dominic aimed the pistol directly at Volkov’s left kneecap. “I have exactly five seconds of patience left, Victor. Antidote. Now.”
Volkov glared at him with pure hatred, but the promise of more agony broke his resolve. He gestured a trembling hand toward a small, biometric wall safe hidden behind a painting.
“In there,” Volkov grunted.
Dominic grabbed the Russian by the collar, dragging him bleeding across the floor, and forced his bloody thumb onto the scanner. The safe hissed open. Inside was a small metal case containing three vials of clear liquid.
Dominic grabbed the case, turning back to Chloe. “Silas, get the antidote to the clinic immediately. Tell Dr. Thorne he has exactly twenty minutes to save Tommy’s life.”
“Yes, Boss,” Silas grabbed the case and sprinted out the ruined doorway.
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Dominic turned his cold, dead eyes back to Volkov, who was bleeding profusely on the expensive rug.
“And now,” Dominic said, pulling the hammer back on his pistol. “We settle a fifteen-year-old debt.”
