Chapter 7 - DAWN AT THE HARBORThe sky over Brooklyn Navy Yard was the color of bruised steel as the first pale light of dawn broke through the clouds. The wind off the East River whipped rain-slicked asphalt, carrying the heavy scent of salt, diesel, and impending violence.
A sleek black Mercedes sedan pulled up alongside Pier 42.
Viktor Vance stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting the lapel of his tailored charcoal overcoat. He was a tall, imposing man with ice-blue eyes and the immaculate grooming of a Wall Street banker who moonlighted as a butcher. Behind him, four armed enforcers fanned out, their hands resting casually inside their coats.
Waiting by the edge of the pier, standing beside a black tactical van, was Roman Marino.
Viktor smiled, a cold, predatory baring of teeth, as he walked forward. The rain slicked his silver-streaked hair.
Roman, my boy, Viktor called out over the howling wind. I hear congratulations are in order. Losing your home, your business, and your wife all in one week must be quite a record, even for you.
Roman didn't smile. He stood with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, watching Viktor approach with the unblinking stare of a tiger sizing up a wounded deer.
You look confident, Viktor, Roman said, his voice carrying effortlessly over the wind. Considering you’re about thirty seconds away from losing everything.
Viktor laughed—a sharp, booming sound that lacked any real warmth. You think you can bluff your way out of a RICO indictment? Sabrina delivered your entire operation to the U.S. Attorney last night. The warrants are already signed. By noon, you’ll be sitting in a federal penitentiary, and I’ll be taking over your entire port infrastructure.
Is that right? Roman asked calmly.
Suddenly, the side doors of the tactical van slid open with a loud thud.
Two federal agents stepped out—not corrupt local cops, but senior investigators from the Department of Justice’s elite financial crimes unit. And stepping down right behind them was David Vance, Viktor’s estranged brother, holding a heavy leather briefcase stamped with federal seals.
Viktor stopped dead in his tracks. His ice-blue eyes widened in sudden, absolute shock as he looked from David to the federal agents.
What is this? Viktor hissed, his composure finally fracturing. David? What the hell is going on here?
David walked up beside Roman, slapping a heavy stack of encrypted flash drives onto the hood of the Mercedes.
It means family dinner is canceled, Viktor, David said smoothly.
The federal lead investigator stepped forward, holding up an arrest warrant with a crisp, authoritative snap of paper.
Viktor Vance, you are under arrest for conspiracy, racketeering, and international money laundering. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.
As the federal agents swarmed forward, pinning Viktor against the side of the car and slapping heavy steel cuffs around his wrists, Viktor stared past them straight at Roman.
You think you won? Viktor screamed, thrashing against the agents. She’s using you, Roman! Elena is a Vance! She planned this from day one to take the throne for herself!
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Roman didn't flinch. He looked at Viktor with absolute pity.
She didn't want the throne, Viktor, Roman said quietly as they shoved his rival into the back of the van. She just wanted the trash taken out.
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