Chapter 5 - The Slaughter at Pier 4
The armored van slammed through the rusted chain-link gates of the fish processing plant, the tires screeching against the wet concrete. Instantly, bullets rained down upon the vehicle, sounding like heavy hail against the reinforced steel armor.
“Hold on!” Diego shouted, throwing his body over mine to shield me as a high-caliber round shattered the bulletproof glass of the side window, spider-webbing the surface but not breaking through.
The van came to a violent halt. The rear doors flew open, and Diego’s men flooded out into the dark, rainy night, returning fire with automatic weapons. The air was instantly filled with the deafening roar of gunfire, the smell of cordite, and the screams of dying men.
Diego pulled me out of the van, keeping himself between me and the active firing line. We moved swiftly behind the cover of a stack of rusted shipping containers.
“Stay here,” Diego commanded, his eyes wild with adrenaline as he checked his weapon. “Marco, guard her with your life. If a single hair on her head is touched, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Diego, wait!” I grabbed his vest. “Look at the muzzle flashes from the upper windows. Those aren't Martin enforcers. Those are Russian mercenaries. Thomas couldn't afford them. Someone else is funding this.”
Before Diego could respond, a voice boomed over an old megaphone from inside the warehouse, echoing through the stormy night.
“Diego! Drop your weapons and step into the light!”
It wasn't Thomas’s voice. It was deeper, older, and laced with a thick Eastern European accent.
“Viktor Petrov,” Diego growled, his face darkening with absolute hatred. Petrov was the head of the Bratva syndicate operating out of Boston—a massive organization that had been trying to claw its way into Providence for a decade.
“I have your lovely sister, Diego!” Petrov’s voice echoed again, followed by a sharp, terrified feminine scream that made Diego flinch as if he had been shot. “And I have your pathetic brother-in-law, Thomas! It seems Thomas tried to double-cross me, so I’ve decided to renegotiate the terms of our agreement!”
Diego looked at me, his jaw tight. “Thomas brought the Russians into my city.”
“Thomas wanted to ensure your destruction,” I whispered, my mind racing. “He didn't realize Petrov would just use him as bait.”
“Diego!” Petrov shouted again. “You have three minutes to walk into the center of the warehouse alone, or I will start sending your sister back to you piece by piece!”
Diego turned to me, his expression suddenly softening into something that looked dangerously like goodbye. He reached out, his hand cupping my cheek. “I have to go in, Noelle.”
“It’s a suicide mission, Diego. He’ll kill you the moment you step through the door.”
“He has my sister,” Diego said simply. “I don't care about the trap.”
I looked at him, seeing the fierce, unconditional love he had for Sofia—the kind of love my family had never shown me. A sudden, powerful realization washed over me: I couldn't let this man die. He was the first person who had ever looked at my scars and felt rage for me, rather than disgust.
“Then we don't go through the front door,” I said, a cold, calculating calm washing over me. “The old fish plant has an underground drainage system that leads directly to the central processing floor. My father used it to smuggle contraband when the docks were watched. I know the entrance. It’s right behind these containers.”
Diego’s eyes lit up with a lethal spark. “Can you lead us through?”
“I can,” I said, pulling a compact pistol from my belt. “But we need a distraction. Marco, keep firing at the front windows. Make them think Diego is still outside, debating his choices.”
“You heard her!” Diego barked at Marco. “Move!”
Diego and I ran through the pouring rain toward a rusted iron grate hidden beneath a pile of discarded wooden pallets. Together, we ripped the grate away, exposing a pitch-black, concrete tunnel that smelled of old salt and decay.
We dropped down into the dark, moving quickly through the ankle-deep water. I led the way, my memory of my father’s old blueprints guiding us flawlessly through the subterranean maze.
Five minutes later, we reached a heavy iron ladder leading upward. I climbed first, slowly pushing open a rusted hatch in the floorboards.
We emerged into the shadows of the massive, dimly lit warehouse floor. The air was thick with the scent of rotting fish and gasoline.
Thirty yards away, beneath a single, harsh halogen light, stood Viktor Petrov, surrounded by a dozen heavily armed Russian mercenaries. Tied to two wooden chairs beneath the light were Sofia Ramos, her face bruised and tear-stained, and Thomas Martin, who was actively weeping and begging for his life.
“Please, Viktor! I gave you the docks! I gave you the city!” Thomas whimpered. “Just let me go! Diego will be here any second, you can have him!”
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Petrov laughed, a brutal, ugly sound. He raised a heavy revolver, pressing the barrel against Thomas’s temple. “You are a coward, Thomas. A man who gives up his own sister to save his skin cannot be trusted. You are no longer useful to me.”
HOOK: Petrov pulled the trigger, but the bullet didn't hit Thomas. The betrayal ran deeper than any of us could have ever imagined.
