Chapter 4 - THE SIEGE OF BERTH 14
The glass windows of the pier office suddenly starred as a volley of heavy objects—or stones wrapped in iron—slammed against the exterior.
"Boss," Marcus warned, tightening his grip on Viktor's collar while keeping his sidearm drawn toward the shattered doorway. "We've got movement in the lower warehouse. At least fifteen armed men moving up the steel stairwell."
Julian wiped the blood from his lip, a wild, manic confidence returning to his eyes as he stood up straight. "It’s over, Adrian. You can’t fight an entire syndicate by yourself. Hand over the credentials, sign the resignation papers on the desk, and I’ll let you walk out of here alive. Go back to your books and your legitimate charities. Leave the real world to the men who know how to rule it."
Adrian looked at his younger brother. For a split second, a flicker of genuine sorrow crossed his dark eyes—not for himself, but for the pathetic ambition that had blinded a man who shared his blood.
"You always were a fool, Julian," Adrian said softly. "You thought because I stopped wearing brass knuckles, I forgot how to use them."
With a sudden, lightning-fast movement, Adrian drew his Glock 19, spun around, and fired a single shot directly into the heavy overhead light fixture.
The office plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
"Down!" Marcus barked.
A hail of gunfire erupted through the exterior windows. Shards of glass rained down like diamond dust as bullets tore through the drywall and chewed up the mahogany desk where Julian had been sitting seconds earlier.
In the pitch black, Adrian moved with lethal, predatory efficiency. He didn't need light; he knew every inch of this terminal—he had designed its security grid himself five years ago.
Bang.
A muffled groan echoed from the doorway as a silhouette carrying a submachine gun collapsed backward over the threshold.
"Secure the perimeter, Marcus!" Adrian commanded over the din of shattering glass.
"Got it, Boss!" Marcus shoved Viktor Vance hard against the steel lockers, subduing the older mobster with a swift strike to the temple that put him out cold.
Julian scrambled across the floor in the dark, his breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. "Adrian! Adrian, don't—!"
A heavy boot came down squarely on Julian’s wrist, pinning him to the splintered floorboards.
The emergency backup generator kicked in overhead, flooding the office with a harsh, flickering red strobe light.
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Adrian stood over his brother, the barrel of his pistol pointed straight down at the floor between Julian's eyes.
"Get up," Adrian ordered.
