Chapter 78
The private gallery was a quiet, dimly lit corridor lined with ancestral oil portraits and heavy velvet drapes. The muffled strains of the orchestra felt miles away.
Von Steiner stood at the center of the Persian rug, leaning lightly on an antique silver-topped cane, surrounded by five plainclothes bodyguards with concealed weapons.
"You have caused me a great deal of inconvenience, Russo," Von Steiner said, his voice cultured, dry, and entirely devoid of human empathy. "Your stubbornness cost me Antoine, it cost me my Mediterranean distribution pipeline, and it forced me to destroy that wretched island."
Dante stopped five paces away, his hands resting casually at his sides. "You didn't destroy the island, Von Steiner. Elena destroyed you. She died knowing she had broken your empire."
Von Steiner scoffed, a dry, grating laugh. "Elena was an insect. She stole what belonged to the Consortium. But you are a businessman, Dante. You understand that men like us decide the borders of the world. Give me the ring, and I will permit you to take your waitress and your children back to that provincial farm in Tuscany. Refuse, and I will have them butchered before the sun rises."
"You admitted to hiring Antoine? To funding the Black Arrow weapon?" Dante asked, his pale gray eyes entirely calm.
"Of course I did," Von Steiner sneered, stepping forward. "Who would ever believe you? I am the state, Russo. I own the courts, I own the shipping channels, and I own the police. Give me the ring."
Dante reached into his tuxedo jacket, pulled out the black sapphire ring, and casually tossed it onto the carpet at Von Steiner's feet.
The Baron frowned, bewildered by the utter lack of resistance. "What is this?"
"That is a microphone, Von Steiner," Dante said softly, pointing to the lapel of his tuxedo, where a microscopic fiber-optic lens blinked with a tiny blue light. "And that ring was a signal transmitter. Your confession was just broadcast over the public address system of the entire ballroom, streamed live to the International Criminal Court, and aired on every major news network in Europe."
Von Steiner’s face drained of all color, his arrogant sneer twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. "Kill him!" he shrieked.
The mercenaries reached for their weapons, but before they could draw, the gallery’s reinforced glass skylights detonated inward with a deafening roar. Austrian counter-terror commandos fast-roped through the ceiling, flashbangs turning the gallery into a blinding, concussive storm.
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The bodyguards were disarmed and pinned in seconds. Von Steiner collapsed to his knees, his silver cane clattering against the floor as federal prosecutors entered through the gallery doors, displaying a warrant from the International Court.
Dante looked down at the ruined oligarch with cold, absolute detachment. "Your reign is over, Baron. The light won."
