Chapter 8 - The Cleansing of the Waterfront
The battle at Pier 4 did not last twenty minutes.
When the Reichi tactical teams finally cleared the snow blockage at the bridge and tore through the semi-truck barricades, they didn't find a cornered Don. They found the Caporelli crew scattered across the frozen asphalt of the container yard, their weapons discarded in the snow, their leadership broken by a single man who had fought with the memory of two sisters guiding his hands.
Jimmy Vane was found near the edge of the pier, his expensive silk coat ruined by the salt spray, his hands tied to the iron mooring cleat with the same heavy chains Derek Walsh had worn in the quarry.
Matteo Reichi stood at the end of the pier, his charcoal coat dusted with snow, a small cut near his left temple bleeding slightly into the white frost. He didn't look at the men being loaded into the police vans by the precinct captains who had finally arrived to clean the slate. He looked across the harbor toward the lights of the city.
Vincent walked up beside him, his weapon already concealed, his coat damp from the freezing spray. "Caporelli is fleeing back to Rhode Island, Matteo. They won't cross the border again. The South End is clean. The harbor is yours."
"It’s not mine, Vincent," Matteo said quietly, his winter-river eyes reflecting the silver light of the stars breaking through the snow clouds. "It belongs to the city. The Reichi trust will transition the pier properties to the harbor development board by Monday morning. I’m out of the logistics business."
Vincent went entirely still, the leather folder in his hand shaking slightly. "Boss? You’re stepping down? The family—"
"The family is dead, Vincent," Matteo said, turning his face away from the dark water. "Michael Rodriguez died in 2003, and Matteo Reichi finished his work tonight. The only thing left is a man who needs to help an eight-year-old girl with her history project."
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He reached into his pocket and pulled out his private, encrypted smartphone, looking at the saved text chain from Emma that had remained the compass of his survival. He deleted the encryption protocol, allowing the number to become ordinary, human, and open to the world.
"Take the cars, Vincent," Matteo ordered, his voice dropping into a beautiful, light rhythm he hadn't used since he was a boy fixing cars after school. "I’m walking home tonight. The air is clean."
