An Understated Dominance Novel (Dahlia & Dustin) by Marina Vittori updated 2025-26 - An Understated Dominance Chapter 2722

Chapter 2722

“Hit it,” Dustin said calmly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Natasha understood instantly. Her eyes hardened, and she slammed her foot down on the gas, aiming the car straight at Mateo and his men.

Mateo jerked back in shock, barely dodging. Two of his thugs weren’t so lucky—they were thrown to the ground on impact.

Natasha shifted into reverse, floored the accelerator, scattered the crowd behind them, then rammed the back of the sports car into the vehicles blocking the intersection.

The powerful collision sent the blocking car skidding sideways, opening a narrow escape path.

Natasha didn’t hesitate. With a sharp twist of the steering wheel, she drifted cleanly through the gap, broke through the blockade, and sped off into the night.

“Damn it! After them! Don’t let them get away!” Mateo roared, brushing dirt off himself as he climbed to his feet.

Hayes crushed his cigar under his heel, his expression dark, then silently got into his car.

In the next second, engines thundered to life. Seven or eight vans surged forward like starving sharks catching the scent of blood, chasing after the fleeing red sports car.

A high-speed urban chase exploded across the city streets.

Natasha’s driving was exceptional. She weaved, drifted, and cut sharp corners with near-perfect precision, trying everything to shake the cars tailing them.

Dustin watched the rear through the back window, calling out warnings about incoming turns and obstacles.

But there were too many pursuing vehicles. And these weren’t amateurs—they drove like seasoned predators refusing to let go.

After several miles of intense pursuit, Natasha was forced onto a long overpass stretching over the river.

The bridge was wide, but the path ahead was already sealed off—and the convoy behind had closed in, trapping them completely.

“Damn it!” Natasha slammed her palm against the steering wheel.

Dustin inhaled deeply as the thugs poured out of the vans, weapons in hand, steadily closing in.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, shrugged off the expensive suit jacket she had just bought him, and tossed it onto the seat, left only in his white shirt.

“Stay in the car. Lock the doors.”

His voice was calm, but his eyes were resolute. “I’ll hold them off until help arrives.”

“Be careful,” Natasha said. Worry flickered across her face, but she didn’t try to stop him. She trusted him.

With his skills, handling a mob like this shouldn’t be impossible—even without his former strength.

Dustin opened the door and stepped out, shutting it firmly behind him.

The night wind whipped against his white shirt, outlining his tall, steady frame.

Alone, he faced dozens of armed thugs closing in with murderous intent. Still, there wasn’t a trace of fear in his eyes—only a cold, steady focus.

Mateo blinked, stunned for a moment, then burst into a mocking laugh. “Guess some people really aren’t afraid of dying! Get him! Kill him!”

Hayes leaned against a car, watching like it was a casual street brawl instead of an ambush.

“Kill!”

The mob charged at Dustin like a tidal wave.

Dustin’s eyes sharpened. Instead of meeting them head-on, he flipped backward, landing on the slightly raised pedestrian walkway along the side of the bridge.

The narrow space limited how many attackers could reach him at once—giving him at least a fighting chance.

The fight erupted instantly.

Even without his cultivation, Dustin’s instincts, techniques, and combat timing were carved into his bones.

He moved fast—blindingly fast. Fists, elbows, knees, kicks—every strike was precise, ruthless, and deadly.

Bang!
His punch smashed into a thug’s nose. The man screamed as blood poured out, collapsing instantly.

Crack!
A side kick snapped another man’s knee. He hit the ground shrieking in agony.

Smack!
A backhand chop caught a third thug in the neck. The man dropped silently.

Dustin moved like a predator—slipping, dodging, weaving through the narrow walkway with fluid precision. And every time he struck, someone fell.

But even the most skilled fighter is just flesh and blood. And no matter how fierce the tiger, it can’t fight a pack forever.

He was human now—no enhanced strength, no heightened senses.

Their sticks and blades came from all directions. Some blows were impossible to avoid.

Wham!
A steel pipe slammed into his back, making him stagger as a metallic taste rose in his throat.

Shhk!
A machete grazed his arm, slicing his sleeve and leaving a bloody gouge.

The pain sharpened his senses instead of slowing him down. If anything, it made him even more ferocious.

Within ten minutes, more than a dozen thugs lay groaning on the ground.

But Dustin was breathing hard now. Sweat, dust, and streaks of blood soaked his once-white shirt, and his movements were beginning to slow.

Inside the car, Natasha’s heart pounded. Her palms were drenched with cold sweat.

Seeing him get hit again and again felt like knives stabbing her own heart.

Then—
As Dustin blocked an attack from the side, a thug seized the opening and swung a metal rod straight toward the back of his head.

This one would kill him.

“No!” Natasha’s eyes widened, her blood turning cold.

Without a second thought, she grabbed the sleek, custom-made pistol hidden near her seat, aimed at the thug going for the sneak attack, and pulled the trigger.

Bang! Bang!

Two crisp gunshots split the night.