Chapter 4 - The Bear Mountain LodgeThe Alpine Club was a sprawling, ultra-exclusive hunting lodge nestled deep within the heavily wooded ridges of Bear Mountain, surrounded by towering pines and thick blankets of winter snow. To the public, it was a private retreat where wealthy industrialists and politicians paid exorbitant membership fees to hunt elk and smoke cigars by roaring stone fireplaces.
To Viktor Kolov, it was a fortress.
By 1:00 p.m. that afternoon, my armored convoy had quietly sealed off every access road leading up the mountain. There were no police roadblocks, no rangers on patrol, and no escape routes.
I sat in the passenger seat of the lead SUV, watching the snow fall gently against the windshield.
“Status?” I asked into the encrypted comms unit.
“Perimeter secure, Boss,” Marco’s voice replied from the vanguard unit parked half a mile up the winding gravel driveway. “Thermal imaging shows six guards inside the main lodge. Kolov is on the second-floor master suite with two of his top lieutenants. They’re drinking scotch and burning documents.”
“Move in,” I commanded. “Take the ground floor. Leave Kolov to me.”
The assault was breathtakingly swift.
My tactical teams breached the heavy oak double doors of the Alpine Club with synchronized flashbangs that echoed through the snowy valley like thunderclaps. Within thirty seconds, Kolov’s guards were neutralized and zip-tied on the Persian rugs without firing a single shot of resistance.
I stepped through the shattered doorway, brushing a stray snowflake from the shoulder of my wool coat. The scent of burning cedar, expensive whiskey, and gunpowder filled the air.
I walked past the taxidermied deer heads mounted on the log walls, climbed the grand wooden staircase, and strode down the second-floor hallway until I reached the double doors of the master suite.
The door was unlocked. I pushed it open with my fingertips.
Viktor Kolov was standing by the panoramic window, holding a heavy crystal tumbler of amber scotch. When he heard the door open, he spun around, his face flushed with alcohol and adrenaline, a 9mm SIG Sauer pistol clutched clumsily in his right hand.
“Who the fuck—?” Kolov started, raising the barrel toward my chest.
He didn't get the muzzle halfway up.
Before his finger could curl around the trigger, I drew my Walther PPK from my shoulder holster and fired a single, clean shot directly through the center of his right hand.
The gun dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, accompanied by Kolov’s ear-splitting scream of agony as he clutched his bleeding hand to his chest, staggering backward against the glass window.
“You’re... you’re Castellano,” Kolov choked out, his face draining of all color as he stared at me with unadulterated terror.
I walked slowly across the room, closing the distance between us until I stood less than two feet away from him. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't look angry. I looked completely, terrifyingly calm.
“You sent two animals to beat a twenty-two-year-old girl nearly to death,” I said quietly, my gaze locked onto his. “You thought sending a message to my housekeeper would make me crawl into a hole.”
“She... she was just a servant!” Kolov gasped, blood dripping onto the expensive hardwood floor. “A nobody!”
In my world, nobody was a nobody. But to Kolov, human life was just a commodity.
I reached out, grabbed him by the lapels of his designer suit, and slammed him hard against the glass windowpane, cracking the double-paned safety glass behind him.
“In my house,” I whispered, my voice dropping into that dark, lethal register that made hardened killers shake, “nobody is a nobody. And anyone under my roof is family. You forgot that rule, Viktor. Now you’re going to pay the tuition.”
“Please,” Kolov whimpered, his knees buckling beneath him. “Take my money! Take my accounts! Take everything I have!”
“I’ve already taken your docks, your warehouses, your money, and your men,” I told him, releasing my grip and letting him slide down the glass into a pathetic heap on the floor. “All I have left to take from you... is your future.”
May you like
I turned toward the door as Marco and Salvatore stepped into the room.
“Clean this trash out of my sight,” I ordered, buttoning my coat. “And make sure the rest of his syndicate understands one simple rule: New York belongs to the Castellanos. Anyone who forgets that will end up just like Viktor.”
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