Chapter 6 - The Midnight HarborThe northern harbor was shrouded in a thick fog hanging low over the dark Atlantic water.
At 11:45 PM, a massive black cargo vessel slipped silently into the dock, its engines hummed like a dying beast. On the crane platform overlooking the pier, Lucian stood in a long black trench coat, a pair of night-vision binoculars pressed to his eyes. Beside him stood Don Falcone and fifty of his best soldiers, all armed to the teeth.
"I still can't believe I'm taking operational orders from your wife, Moretti," Falcone grunted, checking the magazine of his submachine gun. "If this is a setup, I'm taking your head before Vance takes mine."
"If my wife wanted you dead, Falcone, she would have put arsenic in your pappardelle," Lucian said coldly without looking away from the docks. "Watch your mouth."
Below them, the cargo ship's ramp lowered with a deafening screech of metal. Dozens of heavily armed men wearing elite tactical gear poured out onto the pier, led by Viktor Vance—a giant of a man with a scarred face and a ruthless reputation across Eastern Europe.
Beside Viktor walked three familiar figures: Santino, Bruno, and Mateo—Lucian's traitorous captains.
"There they are," Falcone hissed. "The rats."
"Wait for Elena's signal," Lucian ordered.
"Where is your wife?" Falcone asked, squinting into the fog. "She said she was handling the rear flank, but I don't see—"
Suddenly, the harbor lights flickered and went black.
Total darkness swallowed the pier. Shouts of confusion erupted from Vance's men down below. Heavy tactical flashlights clicked on, searching the fog frantically.
Then, high-pitched feedback squealed over the harbor's automated loudspeaker system.
A woman's voice echoed across the docks—smooth, calm, and chillingly familiar.
"Welcome to New York, Mr. Vance," Elena's voice boomed over the speakers. "I hope your journey was comfortable. Unfortunately, we don't have a table reserved for you tonight."
Viktor Vance raised his rifle, screaming into the darkness. "Carbone’s little girl! Show yourself, you bitch!"
"Look up, Viktor," she replied.
High above the harbor, on the massive commercial container crane, a single spotlight clicked on.
Standing on the narrow catwalk, outline against the moonlit sky, was Elena. She wore a sleek black tactical suit that emphasized every line of her figure, holding a heavy detonator switch in her leather-gloved hand.
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"You murdered my brother for our family's shipping lines," Elena's voice roared through the speakers, devoid of any mercy. "Tonight, the Carbone family sends its regards."
She pressed the button.
