Chapter 8 - The Ambush at the Academy
The sleek black doors of the SUV swung open simultaneously, hitting the pavement with heavy, synchronized thuds. Viktor and I moved with the cold, calculated efficiency of apex predators who had spent decades surviving the brutal underbelly of Chicago’s criminal underworld. Behind us, two additional tactical vehicles pulled up smoothly, cutting off the utility van’s exit path and trapping Viktorov’s enforcers in a classic pincer movement.
Before the two operatives could drag Marcus another step toward their vehicle, Viktor was already across the courtyard, closing the distance with terrifying speed.
"Federal property audit, gentlemen," Viktor growled, slamming his massive hand onto the shoulder of the enforcer holding Marcus, spinning the man around with enough force to dislocate a joint.
The operative dropped Marcus instantly, his hand diving instinctively for the concealed pistol beneath his jacket. But Viktor was faster; a swift, brutal strike to the man’s solar plexus knocked the wind out of him, sending him crashing hard against the brick wall before he slumped unconscious onto the manicured grass.
The second operative froze, his eyes widening in sheer terror as he recognized my face stepping out of the shadows of the ancient oak trees. He knew who I was. Everyone in the underworld knew the face of Damian Vance—and everyone knew that crossing him meant a one-way ticket to oblivion.
"V-Vance..." the man stammered, his hands hovering defensively in the air, backing away until his heels hit the side of the utility van. "We were just... we were just delivering a message—"
"You delivered your message," I interrupted, my voice unnaturally calm, carrying a quiet, frozen fury that made the autumn air feel like a blizzard. I walked slowly toward him, my polished leather shoes crunching softly against the gravel path. "Now it's time to receive mine."
Marcus stood a few feet away, breathing heavily, clutching his textbooks against his chest. He looked at me, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and residual fear.
"Mr. Vance... what's happening?" Marcus asked, his voice shaking slightly. "Who are these men?"
"Just some lost travelers who took a wrong turn, Marcus," I replied without breaking eye contact with the cowering operative. I glanced back at the boy, offering a reassuring nod. "Go inside the administration building. Tell the principal you're coming home with me today. Viktor will handle your things."
"B-But my classes—"
"Your safety comes first, son. Go."
Marcus hesitated for a second, then nodded and hurried away toward the safety of the main entrance. Once he was out of earshot, my demeanor shifted instantly, turning into the merciless syndicate boss who ruled the Midwest with an iron fist.
I stepped directly in front of the trembling operative, leaning in close so that my voice was barely a whisper. "Tell Viktorov that his little stunt with the shoes was cute. But if one of his men ever comes within a mile of a school, a clinic, or a member of my extended family again, I won't just dismantle his smuggling routes in Chicago. I'll personally fly to Bucharest, kick down his front door, and feed him his own teeth. Do we understand each other?"
The man nodded frantically, sweat pouring down his pale forehead. "Y-Yes! I swear! I'll tell him word for word!"
"Get in your van," I ordered, stepping back and gesturing for Viktor to lower his weapon. "And drive. If you stop before you cross the state line, consider yourselves dead men."
May you like
The operative scrambled into the vehicle, fired the engine with a screech of tires, and tore out of the parking lot, leaving his unconscious partner behind in the custody of my security detail.
I stood watching the dust settle, knowing full well that this was only the opening salvo. Viktorov wasn't going to back down easily. The war for supremacy had officially begun, and my family—including Marcus and Lily—was right in the crosshairs.
