Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT STALKER IN THE WAREHOUSE DISTRICTThe rain poured down over Brooklyn like molten lead, plastering Naomi’s hair to her forehead as she stepped out of the black armored SUV.
Belvin had insisted on bringing her along to one of his primary shipping warehouses near the Navy Yard. Officially, it was an import hub for luxury furniture and Italian tiles. Unofficially, it was where the Santoro family managed their high-value cargo logistics across the North Atlantic.
"Stay close to the vehicle," Belvin instructed, pulling the collar of his heavy wool coat up against the howling wind. "The dockworkers are finishing the late shift, and Vincenzo’s men have been sniffing around the perimeter."
"I’m not a child, Belvin," Naomi replied, pulling her waterproof jacket tighter around herself. "And Titan is right here."
The massive pit bull trotted down from the back of the SUV, his paws splashing into the oily puddles. He shook his brindle coat, spraying water in every direction, before locking his eyes onto the shadows of the massive brick warehouse.
They walked inside through the sliding steel loading bay. The interior was cavernous, smelling of pine crates, diesel exhaust, and salt water. Towering stacks of wooden pallets reached toward the vaulted ceiling overhead, illuminated by flickering overhead halogen lamps.
Belvin walked toward a glass-paneled site office on the second-level mezzanine, talking in low tones on his encrypted satellite phone.
Naomi stayed down on the concrete floor, walking slowly between the container stacks. Titan stayed right at her heel, his nose twitching as he sampled the complex scents of the damp warehouse—rust, grease, ocean spray, and something else.
Something chemical. And wrong.
Suddenly, Titan stopped dead in his tracks. His hackles raised, spikes of thick brindle fur standing straight up along his spine. He let out a low, warning huff.
"What is it, boy?" Naomi whispered, squatting down beside him.
Titan didn't look at her. His head was turned sharply toward a narrow gap between two stacked shipping containers labeled FRAGILE - MILAN.
Before Naomi could stand up, a heavy metallic click echoed from the shadows above.
“Look out!” Belvin’s voice roared from the mezzanine.
Crack!
A silenced bullet chipped the concrete floor a mere inch from Naomi’s boot, sending up a sharp spray of grey dust.
Chaos erupted in a fraction of a second.
From the upper catwalks, three masked figures dressed in tactical gear swung down on ropes, automatic weapons raised. They weren't low-level street thugs; these were professional black-ops mercenaries.
"Down!" Belvin shouted, drawing his own Sig Sauer pistol from his shoulder holster and firing twice through the glass of the mezzanine office. One of the descending figures dropped like a stone, crashing onto a pile of wooden crates.
Naomi didn't freeze this time. Years of survival instinct kicked in, forged from poverty and protecting her sister. She dropped flat onto the wet concrete, pulling Titan down with her.
"Get them!" a raspy voice yelled from the catwalk.
Two of the mercenaries hit the floor, boots splashing through puddles, rushing straight toward Naomi and Titan.
Titan didn't wait for a command.
With a roar that shook the corrugated metal walls, the one-hundred-and-forty-pound pit bull launched himself forward. He intercepted the lead mercenary mid-stride, slamming his massive chest into the man's tactical vest with the force of a speeding freight train.
The man’s rifle flew from his hands, clattering across the concrete, as Titan clamped his powerful jaws onto the reinforced padding of the mercenary's shoulder, driving him hard into a stack of empty crates.
The second mercenary raised his submachine gun, aiming directly at Titan’s back.
"No you don't!" Naomi screamed.
Adrenaline surging through her veins, Naomi scrambled across the wet floor, grabbed a heavy iron cargo hook left lying beside a pallet, and swung it with all her might across the back of the second mercenary's knees.
The man collapsed with a sharp cry, his weapon discharging wildly into the ceiling panels above, raining down a shower of sparks and fiberglass insulation.
From the mezzanine, Belvin descended the metal staircase two steps at a time, his pistol raised, sweeping the area with cold, lethal precision. He fired two warning shots into the floor inches from the second mercenary's head.
"Drop the weapon," Belvin commanded, his voice absolute ice. "Or the next one goes through your skull."
The mercenary dropped his submachine gun, raising his hands slowly in the air.
Within seconds, the heavy steel doors at the front of the warehouse burst open, and half a dozen of Belvin’s elite guards flooded inside, weapons drawn, securing the perimeter.
Belvin walked swiftly across the concrete, bypassing the captured men entirely until he reached Naomi. He dropped to one knee beside her, his dark eyes scanning her frantically for any sign of injury.
"Are you hurt?" Belvin demanded, his usual stoic mask cracking to reveal raw, burning panic. "Did they touch you?"
Naomi was breathing heavily, her hands shaking as she let go of the iron hook. She looked down at Titan, who was standing over the first mercenary, holding the man pinned to the floor with one massive paw on his chest, tail wagging ever so slightly in triumph.
"I’m fine," Naomi whispered, looking up at Belvin. "We’re both fine."
Belvin reached out, his warm, strong hand gripping her shoulder, pulling her close against his chest for a brief, fierce second before releasing her. He stood up, turning his attention to the captured mercenary on the floor.
"Who sent you?" Belvin asked softly, walking over to the pinned man.
The mercenary spat blood onto the concrete, grinning through broken teeth. "Vincenzo says... the game is just getting started, Santoro."
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Belvin’s expression didn't change, but his eyes turned pitch black. He looked up at one of his chief guards.
"Lock them in the lower vault," Belvin ordered quietly. "And send a message to Vincenzo Gallo. Tell him his war has cost him everything."
