Chapter 17 - The Ghost at the PiersThe rain had turned into a misty, freezing drizzle over Pier 42.
The cavernous industrial warehouse was pitch black, lit only by the faint amber glow of distant streetlamps reflecting off puddles of oil and seawater.
Rico Moretti stepped out of his black armored SUV, his heavy combat boots crunching against gravel. Behind him, three armored vehicles idled quietly, carrying twenty of his most elite enforcers.
"Boss, it's a ghost town," Dante reported, stepping up beside Rico with his weapon drawn. "The informant said the shipment was here, but there's no sign of Maroni's men or the Commission."
Rico’s sharp eyes scanned the shadows of the towering shipping containers. His tactical instincts—honed by a lifetime in the underworld—screamed that something was deeply wrong.
BEEP.
The encrypted satellite phone in Rico’s pocket buzzed loudly, breaking the heavy silence of the docks.
Rico pulled it out and flipped it open. A live video feed popped onto the small screen.
The screen showed Clara tied to a chair in the abandoned warehouse, and right beside her, a crying Leo held tightly by one of Dominic’s armed enforcers.
Dominic’s face leaned into the camera frame, smiling darkly. "Surprise, nephew. Drop your weapons, dismiss your men, and walk alone to the old sugar refinery at the end of the pier. If you're even one minute late... the waitress gets a front-row seat to her own funeral."
The feed cut to black.
Dante looked at Rico, his face pale with dread. "Boss, it's a perimeter trap. If you go in alone, you're walking into a firing squad."
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Rico didn't hesitate. He pulled the empty ammunition magazine out of his secondary sidearm, checked his main weapon, and slid it back into its holster. His expression turned into a mask of pure, unyielding ice.
"Keep the men back, Dante," Rico commanded quietly. "If I'm not out of that refinery in twenty minutes... burn this entire pier to the ground."
