Chapter 13 - The Descent
The private airstrip outside Geneva was shrouded in thick morning fog when Julian’s sleek black jet touched down.
I was waiting on the tarmac, dressed in tactical black, a heavy duffel bag slung over my shoulder containing enough firepower to start a small revolution.
Julian stepped off the plane, looking as immaculate as ever in a navy bespoke suit, though his eyes were grim.
"We have a lead," Julian said, not bothering with pleasantries as I boarded the jet.
"The Commission operates out of Rome, hidden in plain sight. An old associate of mine, a smuggler named Cassian, claims he knows where they are holding Leo."
I threw my bag onto one of the leather seats and sat down, checking the action on my pistol for the tenth time.
"Do you trust him?" I asked, watching the Swiss countryside blur past as the jet rapidly accelerated down the runway.
"I trust his greed," Julian replied smoothly, pouring himself an espresso.
"I wired him two million euros an hour ago. He will sing like a canary."
The flight to Rome was agonizingly fast, my mind racing through a hundred different scenarios, all of them ending in violence.
We landed at a private airfield just outside the city limits, bypassing customs entirely thanks to Julian’s endless bribes.
A black Range Rover was waiting for us, the keys left in the ignition.
Rome was a city built on blood and empire, a fitting place for the final chapter of the Valenti legacy to be written.
We drove deep into the historic district, pulling into a dark, narrow alleyway behind an ancient stone cathedral.
Cassian’s safehouse was located in the catacombs beneath the church, a labyrinth of forgotten bones and damp stone.
Julian led the way, his flashlight cutting through the oppressive darkness as we descended a crumbling spiral staircase.
The air smelled of decay and wet earth.
We reached a heavy iron door, and Julian knocked a specific, rhythmic pattern against the rusted metal.
The door creaked open, revealing a large, dimly lit cavern filled with crates of stolen antiquities and illegal weapons.
Cassian, a rat-faced man with a gold tooth and nervous eyes, stood in the center of the room.
"Vance," Cassian smiled, though he looked terrified. "You brought the ghost."
I stepped out of the shadows, my hand resting casually on the hilt of my combat knife.
"Where is my brother?" I asked, my voice echoing off the stone walls.
Cassian swallowed hard, taking a step back.
"He is in Venice, Dominic. The Blind King is hosting a masquerade ball tomorrow night to auction him off to the highest bidder."
Before I could ask another question, the heavy iron door behind us slammed shut with a deafening crash, the locking mechanism clicking into place.
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Cassian’s nervous smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer terror.
"I am sorry," he whimpered. "They told me they would kill my family if I didn't trap you."
