Chapter 9 - The Ultimatum
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The hours bled into a terrifying, sleepless night. Chloe sat curled on a plush velvet sofa, staring blankly at a muted television screen while Dominic orchestrated a shadow war from his dining table. The penthouse was a hub of violent logistics. Men came and went, dropping off encrypted laptops, weapons, and hushed reports of street-level skirmishes.
At 4:00 AM, Dominic’s personal phone—a sleek, untraceable device he kept in his breast pocket—vibrated loudly on the glass table.
The entire room went silent. Silas and Marcus stopped talking.
Dominic picked up the phone. He didn't check the caller ID. He already knew.
“Victor,” Dominic answered, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm.
Chloe’s breath hitched. She leaned forward, straining to hear the voice of the man who wanted to kill her brother.
“Dominic Russo,” a heavy, accented voice boomed through the speaker. Victor Volkov sounded amused, a dark, booming chuckle echoing from his end. “I must say, I am surprised. I thought you were a businessman. A man of logic. But tonight, you act like a romantic fool over a little girl in an apron.”
“I do not appreciate uninvited guests in my club, Victor,” Dominic replied, pouring himself a fresh glass of bourbon. “If you want a drink, you make a reservation. You don't send armed dogs to scare my staff.”
“Do not play games with me, Russo,” Volkov snarled, the amusement instantly vanishing. “You know exactly why my men were there. Her brother stole my property. Highly sensitive property.”
“Your extortion ledger,” Dominic clarified bluntly. “Yes. I am aware. And frankly, Victor, if you are stupid enough to let a degenerate gambler crack your safe, you deserve to lose it.”
“I will burn Boston to the ground before I let you have those drives,” Volkov roared.
“Then bring the matches,” Dominic challenged, his eyes locking onto Chloe across the room. “Because you aren't getting the girl. And you aren't getting the drives.”
“Are you sure about that?” Volkov asked, his voice suddenly dropping into a cruel, sickening whisper. “Because I currently have something you want. Or rather, something she wants.”
A muffled, agonizing scream echoed through the phone. Chloe jumped to her feet, her hand covering her mouth.
“Tommy!” Chloe shrieked, sprinting toward the table.
Dominic held his hand up, signaling her to stop, but his expression darkened into pure, murderous rage.
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“We found him bleeding in a warehouse,” Volkov laughed. “He is very stubborn. He will not tell me where he hid the drives. But I think he will talk when I start cutting pieces off his sister. Here is the deal, Dominic. You bring the girl to the abandoned shipping yards at sunrise. We make a trade. The girl for her brother. If you do not show up, I will send you Tommy’s head in a box.”
The line went dead.
