Chapter 8 - Massacre at Pier 42
At Pier 42, rain slammed down against the rusted shipping containers. Julian Voss stood in the downpour, surrounded by fifty armed men. Blood seeped through his white bandages, but his eyes were black as pitch, void of all humanity.
Across the asphalt stood Falcone’s army, with Cora standing tied between her father and Don Falcone.
"Give me the girl, Falcone!" Julian’s voice thundered over the sound of the crashing waves. "Take the territory! Take the money! Give her to me!"
"She is a Falcone, you fool!" Arthur sneered, drawing a pistol and pressing it to Cora’s temple. "She belongs to us! She helped us drain your bank accounts from the inside!"
Julian looked at Cora through the torrential rain. His heart, frozen for ten years since his sister’s death, shattered into a thousand pieces. "Is that true, Cora?"
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"No, Julian! It's a lie!" Cora screamed, her voice tearing in her throat. "He’s using us both!"
With a sudden, violent movement, Cora slammed her heel down onto her father’s foot, driving her elbow back into his ribs. Arthur gasped, dropping the gun. Cora slipped her wrists out of the loose knot—using the surgical scalpels she had hidden in her sleeves hours earlier—and dove behind a shipping container just as the night erupted into gunfire.
