Chapter 13 - Smoke and Shadows
The ride down to the Brooklyn waterfront in the back of Berto’s bulletproof Maybach was a masterclass in suffocating silence. The grey sky hung low over the Hudson, casting a bruised, melancholic light across the rusted cranes and towering shipping containers of Terminal 4.
When the car slid to a halt near Berth 12, Berto killed the engine instantly. The area was eerily deserted. The usual swarm of dockworkers, union reps, and truck drivers had completely vanished, leaving behind only the rhythmic groaning of metal against metal and the steady hiss of steam venting from a refrigerated container.
"Vincenzo’s intel was solid," Berto whispered, his hand resting near his holster as he stepped out into the damp air. "The perimeter sensors have been wiped."
Anna stepped out beside him, adjusting her heels on the gravel. The sharp scent of sea salt mixed with something else—something chemical, metallic, and terrifyingly familiar. "Berto. Look at the seal on that container."
Berto moved cautiously, shielding her with his body as they approached the massive steel box bearing a faded Mediterranean shipping logo. The security seal wasn't standard customs wire; it was a heavy-duty military-grade electronic lock, currently blinking with a steady, pulsing red light.
"It’s a thermal trigger," Anna realized, her breath catching in her throat as she read the digital display etched into the casing. "Berto... this isn't contraband. It's a bomb."
Before Berto could pull her away, the side door of the adjacent warehouse slid open with a deafening screech.
May you like
A figure stepped out from the shadows, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries wearing unmarked tactical gear. The man was older, with silver-streaked hair, a sharp, cruel smile, and eyes that held a chilling resemblance to Berto's own.
"Hello, nephew," Dante Castiano’s voice echoed across the empty concrete dock. "Did you really think you could bury the family business in a spreadsheet and walk away?"
