Chapter 9 - The Reckoning at Pier 4"Trap!" Rossi screamed, spinning around toward the dark shadows of the docks. "Fall back! It's an ambush!"
Before his men could even raise their weapons, the entire perimeter of Pier 4 erupted in blinding white floodlights. High-intensity spotlights mounted on the surrounding cranes snapped on simultaneously, turning the dark docks into broad daylight.
From every angle, Valente enforcers emerged, their weapons locked and loaded, cutting off every escape route.
"Drop your weapons! Do it now!" Tommy Keen’s voice roared through a megaphone, echoing off the concrete walls and the dark water of the river.
Panic broke out among Rossi’s crew. Two of his gunmen tried to raise their rifles toward the crane, but a volley of warning shots from Luca's squad shattered the pavement at their feet, forcing them to drop their weapons and hit the ground with their hands behind their heads.
Rossi stood frozen in the center of the chaos, his silver revolver still clutched in his hand, though his arm was shaking. He looked around wildly as Alio Valente stepped out from the shadows beneath the crane, walking forward with slow, unhurried steps.
"Looking for something, Vincent?" Alio asked, his voice cutting through the freezing wind like a razor blade.
Rossi clenched his jaw, glaring hatred at Alio. "You arrogant bastard. You set me up."
"You killed my mother, Vincent," Alio said, stopping ten feet away, his dark eyes burning with five years of unspent rage. "You thought blowing up a car in Lincoln Park would break me. You thought you could hide behind shell companies and federal cronies while I tore my own empire apart trying to find you."
"I should have finished the job," Rossi sneered, raising his revolver toward Alio’s chest.
Before his finger could even begin to squeeze the trigger, a deafening crack echoed across the docks.
Tommy Keen’s rifle barked from thirty yards away. The bullet struck Rossi’s wrist with brutal precision, shattering bone and sending the silver revolver spinning uselessly across the wet concrete.
Rossi screamed, clutching his mangled hand, dropping to his knees as blood poured rapidly between his fingers.
Alio didn't flinch. He walked up slowly, standing over his old enemy, looking down with absolute coldness.
"You didn't finish the job, Vincent," Alio said softly. "And you made one fatal mistake."
"What... what mistake?" Rossi groaned, looking up through sweat-matted hair.
"You sent a soldier to my doorstep," Alio replied, turning his head toward the entrance of the port.
A heavy rumble rolled across the asphalt. Emerging from the headlights of the backup vehicles was a large armored SUV. The back door swung open, and stepping down onto the pavement with a slow, powerful stride was the Neapolitan mastiff.
Its coat was clean, its surgical stitches healed, and its massive frame radiating an unmistakable aura of royal dominance. It walked purposefully past the armed guards, ignoring the chaos, and came to a direct halt right beside Alio Valente, pressing its heavy shoulder against Alio’s leg.
Rossi’s face turned completely white. He stared at the dog, his jaw dropping in sheer disbelief.
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"No... that’s impossible," Rossi whispered, his voice trembling. "That dog... I put a bullet in his spine. I left him to rot in the alley."
"He didn't rot," Alio said, resting his hand gently on the mastiff’s massive head. "He found the right master."
