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Chapter 10 - The Den of shadows

The black SUV slid to a stop in front of an unassuming warehouse at the edge of the city. Its plain exterior belied the chaos brewing inside—a carefully concealed nerve center for the Castellano syndicate's darker dealings. Viktor stepped out, his presence immediately drawing the attention of the armed men stationed at the entrance.

Nikolai and Matteo followed close behind, their easy banter from earlier replaced by sharp focus. Dimitri, as always, trailed silently, his cold gaze sweeping the perimeter like a predator assessing his territory.

The doors swung open, revealing a starkly lit room filled with tension. Men stood clustered in groups, their voices low as they discussed the situation at hand. The air reeked of sweat, fear, and the faint metallic tang of blood.

Viktor's arrival silenced the room. Conversations ceased, and all eyes turned to him. He didn't need to say a word; his mere presence demanded attention and respect.

A tall man with a thick scar running from his temple to his jaw stepped forward, wringing his hands nervously. "Mr. Castellano, we've contained the situation, but—"

Viktor cut him off with a raised hand. "Speak plainly, Sergei."

Sergei swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "It's one of the Palermo associates. He was caught trying to leak shipment routes to the Vanetti family."

The mention of the rival syndicate was enough to send murmurs rippling through the room. Viktor's jaw tightened, his dark eyes flashing with barely restrained fury. The Palermo family was supposed to be allies—a tenuous alliance built on mutual interests and precarious trust. A betrayal like this threatened to unravel everything.

"Where is he?" Viktor's voice was low, calm—a calm that sent shivers down Sergei's spine.

"In the back," Sergei said, gesturing toward a metal door at the far end of the room.

Viktor didn't wait for further explanation. He strode toward the door, his movements deliberate and controlled. Nikolai and Matteo flanked him, while Dimitri hung back, his sharp eyes scanning the room for any signs of further treachery.

Inside the makeshift interrogation room, the Palermo associate sat slumped in a chair, his face battered and bruised. Blood trickled from his split lip, and one eye was swollen shut. Despite his injuries, he glared defiantly at Viktor as he entered.

"You must be the famous Viktor Castellano," the man sneered, his words slurred from the swelling in his mouth. "I thought you'd be taller."

Matteo snorted, leaning casually against the wall. "Bad move, friend. You've just guaranteed this will hurt more."

Viktor ignored the taunt, his expression unreadable as he approached the man. He stopped a few feet away, his hands resting casually in his pockets. The silence stretched, oppressive and heavy, until the man shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"You've caused quite a mess," Viktor said finally, his voice soft but laced with menace. "Do you understand what that means?"

The man spat blood onto the floor. "It means your precious empire isn't as untouchable as you think."

Before the words had fully left his mouth, Viktor moved. In one fluid motion, he gripped the man's throat and slammed him back against the chair, his grip unyielding. The room seemed to darken, the air thickening with an almost tangible dread.

"Let me explain something to you," Viktor said, his tone still eerily calm. "You've mistaken mercy for weakness. That was your first mistake. Your second was thinking you could cross me and live to tell the tale."

The man clawed at Viktor's hand, his defiance crumbling under the weight of his fear. Viktor held him there for a moment longer before releasing him abruptly, letting him collapse into a coughing fit.

Nikolai stepped forward, his arms crossed. "What do you want us to do with him?"

Viktor didn't look away from the trembling man in the chair. "Not yet."

Turning to Matteo, he gestured toward a table lined with an assortment of tools—pliers, blades, and other instruments of persuasion. "Make sure he understands the cost of betrayal."

Matteo's grin was wolfish as he stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves. "With pleasure."

The man's pleas for mercy echoed through the room as Matteo got to work, his movements methodical and efficient. Viktor watched impassively, his mind already moving ahead to the broader implications of this betrayal.

"Palermo will deny involvement," Nikolai said quietly, stepping up beside him.

"They always do," Viktor replied. "But this isn't about them denying it. It's about making sure they never dare to try again."

Dimitri entered the room then, his phone in hand. "We've intercepted communications from the Vanetti side," he said, his voice low. "They were planning to hit one of our shipments tonight."

Viktor's eyes narrowed. "Location?"

"Warehouse 17, near the docks," Dimitri said.

Viktor nodded. "Gather the men. I want a full strike team ready in twenty minutes."

As Dimitri left to carry out the orders, Viktor turned back to the man in the chair, now slumped and whimpering under Matteo's ministrations.

"Consider yourself lucky," Viktor said, his tone devoid of sympathy. "You'll live—long enough to deliver a message to your family. Tell them this: Cross me again, and I'll dismantle everything they've built, piece by piece."

Matteo stepped back, wiping his hands on a cloth. "He's all yours, boss."

Viktor leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Run fast. And pray I never have to see your face again."

The man nodded frantically, his bravado completely shattered.

As Viktor and his men left the warehouse, the weight of his command settled over them. There was no question, no hesitation. Viktor Castellano wasn't just a man—they followed him because he was inevitable.

And tonight, he would remind the Vanettis why the shadows belonged to him.