Chapter 6 - Blood on the DocksThe salty sea breeze of the North District’s industrial docks whipped through the towering container cranes, carrying the heavy scent of diesel, rain, and impending violence. Pier 4 was usually bustling with midnight cargo operations, but tonight, it was an eerie, deserted wasteland of towering metal stacks and flickering sodium lights.
At the center of the pier, twenty armed enforcers from the San Marco Syndicate stood guard around a dozen open shipping containers filled with smuggled weapons and high-end electronics. They thought they were safe in their own territory.
They were wrong.
Screeeech.
The screech of heavy tires broke the silence of the night. Three matte-black SUVs drifted around the corner of warehouse block B, their high-beam headlights blinding the syndicate guards instantly. The vehicles came to a violent halt, forming an iron wall across the exit.
Before Moretti’s men could even raise their submachine guns, the doors flew open.
Calcio Benevventi stepped out of the lead vehicle alone. He wasn't wearing his tactical vest or carrying a heavy rifle. He wore his signature charcoal suit, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, walking forward with the casual grace of a man taking an evening stroll in the park.
"Hold your fire!" shouted Luca Moretti, the nephew and brutal enforcer of Don Vincente, stepping forward from the shadow of a shipping container with a shotgun gripped tightly in his hands. "Are you out of your mind, Benevventi?! You're trespassing on San Marco turf! This shipment belongs to Don Moretti!"
Calcio didn't stop walking. He kept his eyes locked on Luca, his expression carved out of stone.
"Your uncle made a mistake, Luca," Calcio said smoothly, his voice carrying clearly across the damp concrete. "He touched something that belonged to the Benevventi family."
Luca laughed harshly, raising the barrel of his shotgun toward Calcio’s chest. "Are you talking about some academic research lab? That's corporate business, old man! You're starting a full-scale war over a piece of paper?"
"It wasn't just a piece of paper," Calcio replied softly. "It was my sister's life. And a little girl's mother."
Before Luca could pull the trigger, the shadows behind him erupted.
Stephano, Marco, and ten elite shadow operatives dropped silently from the overhead crane girders like falling spiders. In less than five seconds, half of Moretti's guards were disarmed, choked out, or pinned to the concrete before they could let out a single cry.
Panic broke out among the remaining syndicate thugs. Luca spun around, trying to aim his shotgun at Marco, but a heavy boot kicked the weapon out of his hands with a bone-crunching snap. Luca screamed, falling backward into a stack of wooden crates.
Calcio walked slowly over to him, standing right above the whimpering enforcer. He reached down, grabbed Luca by the lapel of his designer jacket, and hauled him up to eye level with one hand.
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"Tell Moretti something for me," Calcio whispered, his breath freezing the humid night air. "Tell him his war has officially begun. And tomorrow night... I'm coming for dinner at his estate."
Calcio shoved Luca hard against the container wall, turned his back without looking back, and walked back toward his Mercedes as the sounds of systematic neutralization echoed behind him.
