Chapter 6 - The Shadows of the Docks
The Brooklyn docks were swallowed by a thick, heavy fog that rolled off the East River, masking the silhouettes of massive shipping cranes and rusted cargo containers. The rain fell in steady, cold sheets, washing over the asphalt.
At exactly midnight, Vincent’s solo vehicle pulled into the center of an empty pier, its headlights cutting through the gloom. Vincent stepped out, holding a black leather briefcase, his long wool coat fluttering in the wind. He looked entirely alone, an easy target standing in the open light.
From the shadows of a nearby warehouse, a dozen armed men emerged, led by Santino Moretti. Beside him, looking terrified but smug, was Derek. His arm was in a crude sling, his face still swollen and bruised from Vincent’s beating.
"Look at that," Derek sneered, pointing a finger at Vincent. "The big, bad mafia boss came all by himself. Where’s your army now, Vance? Where’s your pretty little whore?"
The moment the word left Derek’s mouth, Vincent’s eyes locked onto him with a gaze so predatory it made Derek step back instinctively behind Santino’s guards.
"The deeds are in the case, Santino," Vincent said, ignoring Derek completely. "Step forward and take them."
Santino laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "You really are an idiot, Vance. Did you think we were going to let you walk away from here alive? With you gone, the Vance empire crumbles, and your wife and her little bastard belong to us."
"You should have checked your perimeters, Santino," Vincent murmured smoothly.
Before Santino could react, the heavy fog was pierced by red laser sights. Dozens of them, painting the chests and foreheads of every Moretti soldier on the pier. From the tops of the cargo containers and the shadows of the warehouse doors, Vincent’s elite strike teams emerged, their weapons trained on the trapped cartel.
May you like
Santino’s face turned an ugly shade of gray. "What... how did you—"
"I own this city, Santino," Vincent said, his voice carrying clearly over the sound of the rain. "Did you really think I would let a second-rate lieutenant dictate terms on my turf?"
