Chapter 6 - The Breach of Fifth Avenue
The heavy oak service doors of the salon swung outward with a sharp crack.
The rain had turned into a freezing drizzle, slicking the asphalt of the alleyway in black reflections. A sleek, armored Mercedes van backed up precisely to the threshold, its rear doors flying open to reveal an interior lined with tactical gear and encrypted comms equipment.
Dante stepped out first, his hand resting casually on the butt of his sidearm, his eyes scanning the shadows of the fire escapes above.
Cassandra followed a second later. She was dressed impeccably now—wearing a tailored black wool coat over a charcoal silk dress, her chestnut hair falling in soft, lustrous waves around her shoulders. She didn't look like a homeless vagrant. She looked like a queen reclaiming a stolen throne.
"Move!" a sharp voice echoed from the mouth of the alley.
From behind the industrial dumpsters, four masked men emerged, submachine guns raised, led by Miller, Richard Sterling’s chief enforcer.
"Drop her!" Miller roared, leveling his barrel straight at Cassandra's chest. "Sterling wants her dead!"
Before Miller’s finger could squeeze the trigger, the alley erupted.
Dante didn't flinch. With blinding speed, he drew his pistol and fired twice—not aiming to kill, but shattering the streetlamp directly above the hit squad, plunging the mouth of the alley into pitch-black shadow.
Simultaneously, from the roof of the adjacent building, two of Dante’s snipers opened fire with non-lethal suppression rounds. Heavy rubber projectiles slammed into Miller’s enforcers with the force of a freight train, dropping them into the wet pavement before they could fire a single effective shot.
Miller managed to dive behind a concrete pillar, raising his weapon toward Dante.
Click.
Miller pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. The slide of his weapon was locked tight by a custom magnetic disabling tag that Bram had slipped onto his holster three minutes prior while posing as a bystander.
Before Miller could process what had happened, a heavy hand clamped around the back of his neck, slamming his face hard against the brick wall until he crumpled unconscious to the ground.
Dante lowered his smoking weapon, turning back to Cassandra without breaking a sweat.
May you like
"Shall we?" Dante asked smoothly, offering her his arm.
Cassandra looked at the unconscious men, then down at her own steady hands. She placed her fingers lightly on Dante’s forearm. "Let's go meeting my uncle."
