Chapter 8 - The Midnight FireThe automated security alarms at the Callahan Global Freight terminal in Newark didn't shriek; they sent a silent, encrypted pulse straight to the master terminal in Victoria’s Tribeca penthouse.
It was 2:14 AM.
Victoria sat up instantly, throwing off the silk duvet. She didn't panic. She didn't call the police. Instead, she reached for the encrypted tablet resting on her nightstand, pulling up the live infrared thermal feeds from the Newark docks.
Sector Four—the primary electronics and luxury-import warehouse—was glowing a brilliant, angry orange.
"Paulie," Victoria spoke into her intercom device, her voice crisp and fully awake.
The door to her master suite opened a second later. Paulie Sica stood in the hallway, wearing a dark tactical vest over a black t-shirt, his automatic rifle held at a low, ready position.
"I saw the alert, Mrs. C," Paulie said grimly. "Sector Four's main breaker was tripped from the inside. Someone bypassed the biometrics using an old supervisor override code."
"Ethan’s code," Victoria stated, swinging her legs out of bed and slipping her feet into a pair of sturdy leather boots.
"Dante Moretti," Paulie corrected, tightening the strap on his vest. "He’s trying to send a message. Burn down the assets to prove the new board can't protect the territory."
Victoria stood up, walking over to her walk-in closet. She didn't reach for a dress or a blazer tonight. From the back of the vault, behind a false panel of shelving, she pulled out a heavy, matte-black ballistic coat and strapped a sleek Beretta 92FS into a shoulder holster.
"Call Elena and Beatrice," Victoria commanded, her eyes flashing with a cold, terrifying clarity. "Tell them to secure the Manhattan and New Jersey bridges. Nobody leaves the Tri-State area tonight until we find out who lit the match."
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"And Dante?" Paulie asked, a rare, hard smile touching his lips.
"Leave Dante to me," Victoria said.
