Chapter 17 - Red Hook Docks at MidnightThe salt air of the Brooklyn waterfront was biting, carrying the heavy scent of diesel fuel, rotting seaweed, and rust.
Midnight had struck ten minutes ago.
I stepped out of my unmarked sedan at the edge of Pier 42 in Red Hook, the towering shipping containers rising like dark monoliths against the pale moonlight. I wore a black tactical turtleneck, a heavy wool coat, and two concealed firearms tucked securely beneath my belt.
"Moretti!" a harsh voice echoed across the concrete docks.
Two men in heavy tactical gear stepped out from behind a towering stack of steel shipping containers, their assault rifles raised. "Hands behind your head. Walk toward warehouse four."
I didn't flinch. I raised my hands slowly, keeping my movements deliberate and controlled as I walked toward the corrugated metal doors of warehouse four.
Inside, the warehouse was cavernous, dimly illuminated by a single flickering overhead halogen bulb. In the center of the room, sitting in a leather armchair like an old king waiting for his executioner, was Don Salvatore Moretti.
Standing behind him were half a dozen armed enforcers, their eyes locked on me with undisguised hatred.
"You actually came," Salvatore chuckled, standing up slowly with the aid of a silver-headed cane. He looked older, his hair completely white, but his eyes still held that reptilian glint of pure malice. "I always knew you had your father's arrogance, Dante. Too proud to let anyone else fight your battles."
"Let's skip the family reunion, Salvatore," I said, stopping ten feet away from him, my hands still raised near my shoulders. "Where are the papers? Where is the guarantee that my family is left alone?"
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Salvatore smiled, a sickening, toothy grin. "There are no papers, my boy. A Moretti only signs contracts in blood. And your blood will seal the new era of the syndicate."
He snapped his fingers.
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