Chapter 4 - The Docks of Newark
The dining room descended into controlled chaos within thirty seconds.
Dante didn't panic. He issued orders with the speed and precision of a military general. "Lock down the perimeter. Get Marcus to the infirmary. Tell Leo to assemble the primary strike team in the courtyard."
He turned toward Evelyn, his eyes cold and pragmatic.
"You're coming with me," he said.
Evelyn stood up, knocking her chair back slightly. "What? No! Why would I go to an ambush site?!"
Dante grabbed her wrist—his grip tight, unquestionable—and pulled her along as he strode toward the main hall. "Because if Marcus Hart’s men just hit my primary shipping hub, it means someone leaked that I was out of position tonight buying you. If my inner circle realizes I bought the wrong target, the leak will widen. You stay where I can see you."
"I am not your meat shield!" Evelyn shouted, trying to dig her heels into the polished marble, but he dragged her as easily as if she were a feather.
"You’re my leverage until I say otherwise," Dante growled, pulling her into an elevator that descended into the mansion’s subterranean armory.
Five minutes later, Evelyn was pushed into the back seat of an armored SUV. Dante sat beside her, pulling a sleek black handgun from his shoulder holster, checking the chamber with a sharp, practiced clack, and sliding it back into place.
Four black SUVs roared out of the Blackwood Estate gates, tearing down the highway toward the industrial marshlands of Newark, New Jersey.
The night was thick with fog when they arrived at Pier 42.
Giant shipping containers stacked three stories high loomed out of the mist like rusted monoliths. The air smelled of salt water, diesel exhaust, and the sharp, copper tang of gunpowder.
The convoy stopped short of the main warehouse. Dante’s men poured out of the vehicles, weapons drawn, taking defensive positions behind heavy steel crates.
Dante pulled a dark, tactical jacket over his suit, turning to Evelyn. "Stay in the car. The glass is bulletproof. If anyone other than me opens this door, pull the red lever under the glove box. It locks the steering column and triggers an alarm directly to the state police."
Evelyn stared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Dante... wait."
He paused, looking back at her through the open door.
"Don't die," she said softly, surprised by her own words. "If you die, I’m stuck in this car forever."
A tiny, almost invisible curve touched the corner of his lips. "I don't die easily, Miss Hart."
He slammed the door, locking it electronically from the outside.
Evelyn watched through the tinted, rain-streaked window as Dante vanished into the foggy maze of shipping containers, flanked by eight heavily armed men.
For ten minutes, the silence inside the car was suffocating. Then, the sound began.
Pop-pop-pop!
Gunfire echoed across the docks—sharp, mechanical cracks that cut through the fog. Evelyn pressed her hands against her ears, her chest heaving as she curled up on the leather seat. She could see muzzle flashes reflecting off the damp steel containers in the distance.
Suddenly, a heavy thud shook the roof of the SUV.
Evelyn shrieked, jumping back.
A man’s face appeared at the driver’s side window—a rough, scarred face wearing a dark tactical mask. He raised a heavy iron sledgehammer and brought it down against the glass.
CRACK!
The bulletproof glass webbed into a spiderweb of white fractures, but held.
The man raised the hammer again.
Evelyn’s instincts took over. She scrambled into the front seat, her hands trembling violently as she reached under the glove box. She found the heavy red lever and pulled it back with all her strength.
A deafening siren began to wail from the roof of the vehicle, and blinding red and blue strobe lights flashed through the fog.
The attacker cursed, dropping the hammer and turning to run.
But before he could take three steps, a shadow materialized behind him out of the mist.
Dante.
Dante grabbed the man by the throat, spun him around, and slammed him face-first into the hood of the SUV. The impact left a heavy dent in the steel. Dante pulled the man’s mask down, pressing the barrel of his handgun directly against the back of the man’s knee.
"Who leaked the route?" Dante’s voice roared over the wailing siren. "Speak, or you'll never walk again."
The man spat blood against the glass. "Hart... Hart knows... he knows you bought the girl... he knows she's a fake!"
Dante froze.
Through the fractured window, Evelyn saw the sudden, terrifying shift in Dante’s expression.
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It wasn't an error. It hadn't been a mistake by the auction house.
It was a trap.
