Chapter 3 - Blood on the Docks
The salty sea breeze whipped across the private Vane piers, carrying the heavy scent of diesel, brine, and impending violence. Fog rolled in from the harbor, swallowing the towering shipping containers and turning the labyrinth of stacked crates into a maze of ghosts.
Leandro and Daphne moved with absolute silence, hugging the shadows of a towering crane. Ahead of them, a massive cargo freighter sat unmoored, its loading ramp lowered. Figures in dark tactical gear were unloading crates marked with an unfamiliar emblem—a coiled viper striking through a crown.
“That’s not our crest,” Daphne whispered, her hand resting on the grip of her concealed firearm. “That’s the crest of the Moretti family. Our sworn rivals.”
Leandro felt a cold fury spike through his veins. Maribel wasn't just staging a coup; she was selling them out to their worst enemies. The betrayal cut deeper than any blade.
Before they could close the distance, a blinding halogen floodlight snapped on overhead, bathing them in harsh white glare.
“Well, well. Look who decided to crash the family reunion,” a smooth, mocking voice echoed from atop the loading ramp.
Maribel stepped out of the shadows, flanked by four armed mercenaries carrying assault rifles. She looked entirely at ease, draped in an expensive fur coat that contrasted sharply with the industrial grit of the docks.
“Mother,” Leandro said, stepping forward into the light, entirely unfazed by the weapons leveled at him. “You’ve crossed a line that has no return.”
“I’m securing our future, Leandro,” Maribel spat, her eyes wild with ambition. “You’re too soft, too bound by old honor codes. The Morettis offered us a partnership that makes us kings of the entire eastern seaboard. You should be thanking me.”
“By selling out our territory?” Daphne challenged, stepping out beside Leandro, leveling her weapon straight at Maribel’s chest. “You’re a traitor to your own blood.”
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Maribel laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “Blood is just currency, darling. And yours is about to expire.”
With a flick of Maribel’s wrist, the mercenaries raised their rifles. But before a single trigger could be pulled, the sound of screeching tires echoed from the dock entrance, followed by the deafening roar of automatic gunfire erupting from behind Maribel’s men.
