Two minutes later, a pair of headlights cut through the fog. A sleek, silver Mercedes pulled into the clearing and parked thirty yards away.
The driver’s door opened, and a man stepped out. He was older, sharply dressed in a tailored cashmere coat, carrying a silver-headed cane. This was Vance. He moved with a relaxed, arrogant confidence, flanking himself with two massive, heavily armed guards.
Vance stopped ten feet from Dante, leaning heavily on his cane. He looked around the empty clearing, a smug smile playing on his lips.
“I was told Dante’s associates wanted to negotiate the surrender of the port contracts,” Vance said, his voice echoing off the corrugated steel walls. He squinted into the harsh floodlight. “Who am I speaking with?”
Dante took one step forward out of the shadows.
Vance’s smile vanished. He took a sharp, involuntary step backward, his cane slipping slightly on the damp concrete. His guards immediately reached for their weapons, but a sudden, terrifying sequence of red laser dots appeared squarely on the chests of both men.
Elias and Dante’s sniper team were already positioned in the catwalks above.
“Negotiations have changed, Vance,” Dante said, his voice echoing like a judge reading a death sentence.
Vance’s face went chalk-white. “You… you’re supposed to be dead.”
“A waitress saved my life,” Dante said coldly. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small glass vial the assassin had given Henri. He held it up in the light. “Three drops of a synthetic neuro-inhibitor in a demi-glace. Elegant. Untraceable by standard coroners. But incredibly sloppy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vance stammered, raising his hands slightly as the red laser dots tracked his guards’ every breath. “This is an ambush. I came here in good faith to—”
“You came here to gloat,” Dante interrupted, his voice rising in power. “You came here to collect your prize. But you lost, Vance. You left a trail of red clay and lithium grease right to your own front door.”
Inside the SUV, Clara held her breath. Henri was shaking violently beside her, pressing his face against the cold glass.
Dante didn't draw a weapon. He didn't need to. He simply raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
The heavy steel doors of container 40-B, located just fifty yards behind Vance’s car, suddenly groaned open with a shrieking grind of metal.
Two of Dante’s tactical operators stepped out of the shadows of the container. Between them, wrapped in a heavy thermal blanket, was a small, shivering eight-year-old boy.
Henri let out a sound in the SUV that Clara would never forget—a guttural, tearing sob of absolute relief. He shoved the door open and scrambled out into the cold air.
“Leo!” Henri screamed, running across the concrete.
The boy looked up, his tear-streaked face lighting up in the gloom. “Papa!”
Henri fell to his knees on the wet concrete, pulling the boy into his arms and burying his face in his son’s shoulder, weeping uncontrollably.
Vance watched the reunion, his jaw trembling. He knew it was over. His leverage was gone, his assassin’s plot exposed, and his men were outgunned.
Dante walked slowly toward Vance, closing the distance until he was inches from the older man’s face.
“Kidnapping a child. Forcing a father to poison a man. You crossed a line tonight that you cannot uncross,” Dante whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal intent. “By tomorrow morning, my lawyers will have seized every asset Vance Holdings owns. By tomorrow afternoon, the police will receive the security footage, the vial, and the testimony of your assassin, whom my men are currently interrogating in the basement of this very shipyard.”
Vance swallowed hard, leaning heavily on his cane, his arrogant facade completely shattered. “What do you want, Dante?”
“I want the antidote,” Dante said, his eyes burning with cold fire. “For the girl who touched the poison meant for me. Give it to me right now, or I let Elias put a bullet in your kneecap and take it off your body.”
Vance didn't hesitate. With a trembling hand, he reached into the inner pocket of his cashmere coat and pulled out a small, metallic auto-injector. He held it out.