Chapter 7 - Midnight at the DocksThe North Pier was a labyrinth of rusting shipping containers, crane towers, and crashing black waves.
Shadows stretched long under the harsh amber glow of overhead floodlights. A dozen of Vance’s heavily armed guards patrolled the perimeter, rifles clutched tight in their hands, unaware that death was already walking among them.
A sleek, black armored SUV slid silently to a halt behind a stack of steel containers.
The doors opened, and Luca stepped out, followed by Marco and a dozen elite operatives. But before they could make their move, a soft click echoed beside Luca.
He turned. Elena was standing there, holding a sleek tactical rifle she had insisted on carrying.
"No," Luca said instantly, his voice brooking no argument. "You stay in the vehicle."
"I am not sitting in a car while the man who ruined my life gets what’s coming to him," Elena countered, her eyes flashing with a fierce, unbreakable resolve that mirrored Luca’s own. "I know the layout of these containers better than anyone. I’m going with you."
Luca stared at her for a long, agonizing moment. He saw the fire in her soul—the survival instinct that had kept her alive through hell. Slowly, a proud, dangerous grin formed on his lips.
"Fine," he whispered, stepping close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Stay behind me. If anyone tries to look at you, close your eyes. I’ll handle the rest."
They moved as one unit through the maze of steel.
Crack.
A muffled gunshot echoed as Marco took out a guard on the catwalk above. The alarm hadn't even started to blare before Luca and his men infiltrated the main warehouse doors.
Inside, stacks of banded cash and crates of smuggled contraband stretched as far as the eye could see. And standing right in the middle of it all, barking orders into a satellite phone, was Viktor Vance.
Vance spun around as the heavy iron doors groaned open. His face twisted into an ugly mask of rage when he saw who stood in the doorway.
"Moretti," Vance snarled, drawing his weapon. "You arrogant bastard. You walked right into my—"
"Drop the phone, Viktor," Luca interrupted, his voice cutting through the warehouse like a razor.
Vance sneezed a laugh, raising his pistol, but before he could pull the trigger, a shot rang out from the shadows.
Clang.
Vance’s gun flew out of his hand, blood spraying from his palm as the bullet grazed his knuckles. He screamed, clutching his wounded hand.
From behind Luca, Elena stepped out into the light, lowering her smoking rifle.
May you like
Vance’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "You... you little rat."
"She’s not a rat," Luca stepped forward, his boots echoing like a death knell on the concrete floor. "She’s my queen."
