Chapter 13 - Night at Pier 42
The ocean wind sweeping over Pier 42 was bitterly cold. Massive, rusted shipping containers towered into the night, forming dark, metallic canyons.
I wore a heavy black coat over tactical armor. My right hand held a small briefcase containing dummy encryption keys, while my left hand concealed a remote detonator.
Midnight precisely.
From the shadows of the central warehouse, a dozen crimson laser sights converged instantly on my chest. At least ten armed mercenaries stepped out from behind the crates, forming an inescapable circle around me.
Dominic limped forward from the center of the crowd, the sharp tap of his walking cane echoing against the cold concrete. His face, warped by severe burn scars, looked horrifying beneath the harsh glare of the vehicle headlights.
"Punctual as always, Adrian," Dominic sneered. "A true family man. Throw the briefcase over."
"You want money, you want power—I’ll give it to you," I said calmly, lowering the briefcase to the ground. "But I need a guarantee. Destroy the Phantom Ledger and swear you will never touch Claire or Liam."
"A guarantee?" Dominic erupted into maniacal laughter. "Are you really that naive, old boss? Once you're dead, your wife belongs to someone else, and your son won't even remember your name. That is true revenge!"
Dominic raised his hand, preparing to signal his men to open fire.
"You forgot one thing, Dominic," I smiled—a cold, ruthless expression that made his men freeze in their tracks. "You taught them how to shoot, but I designed this pier."
I pressed the button in my left hand.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The high-voltage floodlights around the pier exploded in unison, plunging the entire docks into sudden, impenetrable darkness while thick tactical smoke enveloped the area.
Automatic gunfire erupted wildly in the dark. Dominic's men panicked, spraying bullets blindly into the air.
I darted straight through the dense smoke. Relying on muscle memory built over a decade of underground warfare, I neutralized two nearby shooters with a combat blade, seized an MP5, and swept the area toward the laser lines.
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"He's in the smoke! Kill him!" Dominic screamed frantically.
By the time the smoke began to clear, I was gone, having drawn back deep into the maze of shipping containers with the real briefcase. I knew tonight was only the opening salvo. Dominic wasn't acting alone—backed behind him was a coalition of old mafia families seeking to reclaim New York.
