Mikhail stood his ground, even though his body was taut with tension as Dante approached.

The weight of Dante's gaze was crushing, and each step he took exuded the lethal energy of a predator closing in on its prey.

The men around them, seasoned in violence and survival, fell silent, sensing the storm brewing.

The gravel crunched beneath Dante’s shoes, a sound that seemed deafening in the oppressive silence.

Mikhail’s fingers itched toward his gun, his instincts screaming at him to be ready, even though he knew it would be suicidal.

Dante stopped just a few feet away, his dark eyes raking over the scene, lingering briefly on Mikhail, then...