Chapter 14 - The Russian Compound
|
Roman Sokolov did not hide in a penthouse. He operated out of a heavily fortified meatpacking facility on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by high concrete walls and dozens of heavily armed Bratva soldiers.
Wade knew a frontal assault with only four men was suicide. But Wade wasn't planning a frontal assault. He was planning an execution.
They parked the SUV three blocks away, using the cover of the torrential rain to approach the compound on foot.
“They have snipers on the roof,” Silas whispered, peering through a thermal scope.
“I don't care about the roof,” Wade said, pulling a specialized silenced sniper rifle from a long black case. “I care about the main office window.”
Wade navigated to the top of an abandoned factory adjacent to the Russian compound. He set up the rifle on the ledge, ignoring the freezing rain soaking through his coat. He looked through the high-powered scope, adjusting the dials with practiced, lethal precision.
Through the rain-streaked window of the main office, he saw him.
Roman Sokolov was sitting at a massive desk, laughing as he poured vodka for three of his top lieutenants. He was celebrating his victory, believing he had just conquered the Chicago underworld.
“Target acquired,” Wade whispered softly.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't offer a monologue or a chance for surrender. Roman had threatened his son.
Wade exhaled slowly, centering his breathing, and pulled the trigger.
The specialized armor-piercing round shattered the reinforced glass of the office window. Roman Sokolov’s laughter was cut short instantly as the bullet struck him squarely in the chest, throwing his lifeless body backward out of his chair.
The Russian lieutenants panicked, drawing their weapons and shouting in confusion as their invincible boss lay dead on the floor.
Before they could figure out where the shot came from, Wade fired three more times in rapid succession. The three lieutenants dropped, dead before they hit the ground.
Wade disassembled the rifle with calm, mechanical efficiency, packing it back into the case.
“The head of the snake is gone,” Wade said, turning to Silas, who was watching in absolute awe. “The Bratva will splinter into factions trying to replace him. They are no longer a threat to my family.”
“What about the ports, Boss?” Silas asked as they descended the stairs. “You signed the legal transfer documents.”
Wade offered a dark, terrifying smile. “The documents were signed in disappearing ink, Silas. It’s an old trick, but the arrogant rarely pay attention to the details. The ports belong to me. They always will.”
May you like
The war was over. The King of Chicago had reclaimed his throne in a single night of orchestrated bloodshed.
It was time to go home.
