Chapter 9 - The Final Showdown at the DocksMidnight at the old dry docks was a graveyard of rusted iron cranes and howling ocean winds.
Victor Vance stood on the upper gantry, a pistol gripped tightly in his sweating hand, surrounded by his last dozen loyal men. Below them, the shadows moved with silent, lethal precision. Moretti’s men had breached the perimeter without firing a single shot.
"Moretti!" Vance screamed into the dark, his voice cracking with hysteria. "Come out and face me, you coward! You think you own this city just because you bought a stray dog?"
From the shadows near the container stacks, a single figure stepped out into the moonlight. Alexander Moretti. Unarmed, hands casually tucked into his trouser pockets, walking with the unhurried grace of an executioner.
"You talk too much, Victor," Alexander’s voice echoed across the open concrete dock.
"You ruined everything!" Vance snarled, raising his weapon. "You went soft over a mutt! You let a back-alley vet get inside your head!"
"You're right about one thing," Alexander said, stopping ten feet away, his eyes dead and cold as winter ice. "I found something worth protecting. And anyone who tries to touch it... ceases to exist."
Before Vance could pull the trigger, a red laser dot flickered across his forehead. From the upper rafters, a sniper’s suppressed shot rang out with a sharp crack.
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Vance’s eyes went wide. The pistol dropped from his lifeless hand, clattering against the concrete, and he collapsed face-first into the puddles.
The remaining syndicate thugs dropped their weapons instantly, raising their hands in surrender as Moretti’s tactical units swarmed the area. The war was over. The city belonged to Alexander.
