Chapter 8 - Reckoning at Pier 42
The interior of Old Pier 42 was dark, smelling of rust, stagnant lake water, and diesel fuel.
In the center of the cavernous space, illuminated by two harsh construction floodlights, sat Harper’s father, Thomas Russo. He was tied to a wooden chair, his face bruised, but his eyes burning with defiance.
Standing behind him was Lorenzo Marino, flanked by fifteen heavily armed hitmen.
“Dominic!” Lorenzo yelled, his voice echoing off the corrugated steel walls. “You came alone! How romantic!”
Dominic walked forward calmly, stopping twenty feet from the group. His arms were loose at his sides, completely unfazed by the fifteen rifles pointed at his chest.
“Let the old man go, Lorenzo,” Dominic said smoothly. “Your fight is with me.”
“My fight was for the docks!” Lorenzo screamed, his composure finally cracking into wild desperation. “You took the union contracts! You humiliated my son! You think you can build an empire with a caterer’s daughter and make me look like a fool?”
“You made yourself look like a fool when you involved civilians,” Dominic replied coldly.
Lorenzo sneered, pulling a revolver from his belt and pressing the barrel against Thomas Russo’s temple. “Step on your knees, Dominic! On your knees, or I paint this wall with your father-in-law’s brain!”
Thomas Russo looked up at Dominic, spitting blood onto the concrete floor. “Don't do it, kid! Don't bow to this bastard!”
Dominic didn't bow. Instead, he slowly raised his right hand into the air and snapped his fingers.
A deafening horn echoed through the warehouse—the massive, booming blast of a freight ship horn.
Suddenly, the high glass windows near the roof shattered simultaneously.
Dozens of red laser sights flooded the warehouse, pinpointing every single one of Lorenzo Marino’s hitmen. On the elevated catwalks above, fifty union dockworkers and Castelli tactical shooters appeared, rifles locked onto the target below.
Outside, the roar of eighty diesel truck engines echoed through the walls, completely sealing the building.
Lorenzo Marino’s face drained of every drop of blood. His men panicked, looking up at the catwalks in absolute horror.
“You’re surrounded, Lorenzo,” Dominic said, stepping forward slowly. “You have ten seconds to drop that weapon before my men turn this room into a columbarium.”
Lorenzo’s hand trembled against Thomas’s temple. He looked at his men, who were already dropping their weapons onto the concrete floor, raising their hands in surrender.
“You... you can’t...” Lorenzo stammered, his voice cracking.
“Five seconds,” Dominic said, stepping closer.
With a sob of pure cowardice, Lorenzo dropped the revolver onto the ground and fell to his knees, his hands trembling over his head.
Dominic walked up to him, kicked the revolver away, and looked down at the ruined boss of the Marino family.
“Matteo,” Dominic ordered coldly. “Take Lorenzo and his son to the federal prosecutor’s office. Give them the complete financial ledgers on their extortion ring. Let the government keep them in a cage for the rest of their lives.”
Dominic pulled out a pocketknife, sliced through the ropes binding Thomas Russo, and helped the old union steward to his feet.
May you like
Thomas rubbed his wrists, looking at Dominic with a mixture of shock and deep respect. “You’re a crazy son of a bitch, Castelli.”
Dominic offered a rare, genuine smile. “Your daughter said the exact same thing, Mr. Russo. Now let’s get you out of the rain. Harper is waiting.”
