Chapter 5 - Betrayal at the DocksDario didn't flinch. He looked straight past Victor, locking eyes with Dominic.
"You sold your soul to an old snake, Dominic," Dario said softly. "Did he tell you what he does to men who outlive their usefulness?"
Dominic hesitated for a split second, his thumb hovering over the red button on the detonator.
That fraction of a second was all Dario needed.
Dario didn't fire at Victor or Dominic. He aimed at the rusty overhead steam pipe running along the ceiling above the mercenaries. He pulled the trigger twice.
BANG! BANG!
The high-pressure steam pipe exploded, spraying scalding, white-hot vapor over the six gunmen. The men shrieked in agony, dropping their weapons as blinding steam instantly filled the small office space.
Dario dove across the floor, tackling Dominic around the waist before he could press the detonator. They slammed into the rotting wooden wall, breaking through the rusted siding and tumbling out onto the wet wooden catwalk over the roaring river below.
Dominic tried to raise his gun, but Dario slammed his wrist against the iron railing, sending the weapon splashing down into the dark water forty feet below. Dario grabbed Dominic by the throat, pinning him against the edge of the catwalk.
"Where is Victor going?" Dario growled, his eyes blazing in the rain.
"He's... he's going after the kid!" Dominic choked out, thrashing frantically against Dario’s iron grip. "He sent a hit squad to your compound ten minutes ago! He knows you aren't there!"
Dario’s heart stopped.
Without hesitation, Dario lifted Dominic high over the railing and threw him into the rushing, frigid current of the East River below. He didn't waste a single second watching him drown.
Dario sprinted back through the cloud of scalding steam in the cannery. The mercenaries were still writhing on the floor, blinded and screaming. Don Victor had vanished into the rain outside.
Dario burst out onto the main dock. His two loyal enforcers were lying in pool of blood near his sedan—shot down by Victor’s sniper team. The tires of his car were slashed.
"Rocco!" Dario screamed into his satellite phone, sprinting down the dark industrial road toward the nearest main avenue. "Rocco, answer me!"
Static crackled through the speaker, followed by the deafening sound of gunfire and shattering glass over the line.
"Boss!" Rocco’s voice came through, strained and ragged. "They hit the main gate! There are at least twenty men! They brought heavy weapons! We're pinned down in the west wing!"
"Where is Mia?" Dario demanded, his lungs burning as he ran through the freezing rain.
"I have her in the safe room beneath the study!" Rocco yelled. "But they’re setting charges on the door! Dario, you need to get here NOW!"
The line went dead.
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Dario rounded a corner onto the avenue, spotting a black commercial delivery truck waiting at a red light. He sprinted up to the driver’s side, pulled open the door, threw the stunned driver onto the asphalt, and slammed his foot on the gas, tearing toward the freeway to Upstate New York.
He had forty miles to drive. And he had ten minutes to stop a massacre.
