Chapter 18 - Tarmac Bloodshed
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At 8:45 AM, a thick fog hung over the private hangar sector of JFK International Airport.
A private Gulfstream jet with Italian registry markings touched down on the tarmac, taxiing slowly toward an isolated hangar.
Inside the jet, Viktor Donati adjusted his leather gloves, checking the custom gold-plated revolver at his hip. "As soon as the stairs drop," Viktor instructed his lieutenant, "we move straight to the Ricci estate. I want Damian's head on a spike before sunset."
"Yes, Don Viktor," the lieutenant bowed.
The heavy hydraulic door of the jet hissed open, lowering the stairs into the cold morning mist.
Viktor stepped out onto the top platform, taking a deep breath of the cold New York air.
Standing alone on the tarmac fifty yards away, wearing a long black trench coat that billowed in the cold wind, was a single figure.
Wren Calloway.
Viktor froze, his eyes widening in shock as he recognized the face from his family's most secret assassination files. "You..."
"Hello, Viktor," Wren’s voice echoed across the quiet runway through a handheld megaphone. "Welcome to New York."
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"Kill her!" Viktor shrieked, pointing his finger toward the tarmac. "Kill the bitch now!"
Before his men could raise their weapons, six heavy armored SUVs smashed through the wooden perimeter gates of the hangar, encircling the private jet in a tight, impenetrable iron ring.
