Chapter 6 - The Glass and the Iron
The heavy iron gates at the south entrance of the Castellani estate stood twenty feet tall, forged from solid black steel and topped with sharp, decorative spears. Beyond the bars, the dark, rain-slicked suburban road was lit only by the amber glow of three idling black SUVs.
Dante stepped out onto the front portico, flanked by four of his top tactical guards carrying suppressed automatic rifles.
He didn't wear a bulletproof vest. He didn't carry a long rifle. He walked down the wide marble steps into the pouring rain with a heavy black umbrella held casually in his left hand, his suit jacket open, his demeanor completely unbothered by the threat parked outside his walls.
He stopped ten feet from the iron gate.
The driver’s side door of the lead SUV opened. A tall, thin man wearing a heavy leather coat stepped out into the rain, holding an unlit cigarette between his lips.
Mark Krol.
"Dante Castellani!" Mark called out, his voice raspy and loud over the sound of the pouring rain. "Long time no see, neighbor! Beautiful weather we’re having in Boston!"
Dante stood motionless beneath his umbrella. "You're five miles inside my territorial boundary, Mark. You have thirty seconds to turn those vehicles around before my perimeter automated turrets paint your chassis."
Mark chuckled, a dry, unpleasant sound, taking a step toward the iron bars. "Now, now, Dante. Let's not get diplomatic errors started over a simple administrative recovery."
"What recovery?" Dante asked, his voice flat.
"You’ve got something that belongs to the Rhode Island family," Mark said, his humor vanishing, replaced by a cold, greasy malice. "A housekeeper. Goes by the name of Elena Vance. Or Elise Novak, if you prefer her fake papers."
Dante didn't blink. "I have fourteen domestic workers on my payroll, Mark. All of them are vetted, all of them are paid, and all of them are under my personal protection while they reside on this property."
"She’s the daughter of a traitor!" Mark spat into the wet gravel. "Her father owed my brother five million dollars before he died! She’s property of the Krol syndicate! Hand her over, along with the little bastard she’s been raising, and we’ll turn around and leave you to your quiet dinner."
Dante slowly lowered his umbrella, setting the metal tip against the wet cobblestone floor.
"You came to my home," Dante said, his voice dropping into a register so low and terrifying that even his own guards tightened their grip on their rifles. "You parked three vehicles outside my gates. You threatened a woman who eats at my table, and a child who played in my courtyard three hours ago."
"She's nobody to you, Castellani!" Mark yelled, his hand drifting toward his jacket pocket. "Don't throw away a ten-year peace agreement over a dead man's daughter!"
"She is under my roof," Dante corrected him softly. "That makes her mine."
Dante raised his right hand and snapped his fingers once.
From the dark tree line surrounding the estate perimeter, eight red laser sights instantly painted Mark Krol’s chest, throat, and forehead. At the same time, heavy mechanical gears groaned inside the stone gate pillars as twin fifty-caliber defensive emplacements rose from the concealed garden bed, their heavy barrels locking onto the three SUVs.
Mark Krol froze. His face went instantly pale, the cigarette slipping from his lips onto the wet ground.
"You have ten seconds to get out of my sight," Dante whispered, his dark eyes burning through the steel bars. "If I see these vehicles on my road again, I will not call your brother. I will bring thirty men to Providence and burn your docks to the water line."
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Mark swallowed hard, backing away slowly with his hands raised in the air. "You're making a mistake, Castellani! My brother won't let this go!"
"Tell Viktor," Dante said, turning his back on the gates and walking back toward the grand mansion, "that if he wants Julian Vance’s daughter, he can come try to take her himself."
