Chapter 6 - THE TRAP AT THE BROOKLYN DOCKSThe fog rolling off the East River was thick enough to swallow the Brooklyn Navy Yard whole.
At 5:00 AM, the massive corrugated metal gates of Pier 42 groaned open. A convoy of three black armored trucks rolled slowly into the dockside loading yard, their headlights cutting through the grey mist like twin lances of fire.
Inside the lead vehicle sat Belvin Santoro, his expression carved from granite. In the passenger seat beside him sat Naomi, wearing a heavy tactical vest over her dark wool sweater. In the back, Titan sat upright, his nose pressed against the glass partition, his low, vibrating growl echoing through the cabin.
"Stay in the truck until I give the signal," Belvin ordered, checking the magazine of his sidearm with a sharp, metallic click.
"I’m not staying behind, Belvin," Naomi replied, her voice leaving zero room for argument. "Vincenzo wants a war? Let’s show him what happens when he takes on the whole team."
Belvin looked at her for a long, silent moment, then gave a sharp, decisive nod. "All right. But you stay within arm’s reach of me at all times."
The trucks came to a halt in the center of the loading pier, surrounded by towering cranes and stacked shipping containers.
For a minute, there was absolute silence save for the gentle lapping of river water against the concrete pylons.
Then, floodlights mounted on the high cranes suddenly snapped on, blindingly bright, illuminating the entire pier in harsh white light.
From behind the container stacks, dozens of men emerged, dressed in black tactical gear, weapons raised. At the center of them stood Vincenzo Gallo, a smug, triumphant grin plastered across his weathered face. He held a silver-plated revolver in his right hand.
"Well, look who decided to show up to their own funeral!" Vincenzo’s voice boomed across the empty pier, amplified by the harsh acoustics of the river. "Step out of the car, Santoro! Let’s see how brave you are without your corporate lawyers!"
The doors of the lead truck swung open.
Belvin stepped out first, his movements calm, deliberate, and entirely unafraid. He adjusted his cuffs, his dark eyes fixed entirely on Vincenzo.
A second later, Naomi stepped out from the passenger side, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the most feared man in Manhattan.
Vincenzo laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the cold steel containers. "A waitress! You brought a waitress to a syndicate war, Belvin? Have you lost your mind completely?"
Before Belvin could reply, the rear door of the truck flew open.
Titan leapt out onto the concrete, landing with a heavy, solid thud. He didn't bark. He didn't charge. He simply stood beside Naomi and Belvin, his brindle muscles bunched like coiled springs, his dark eyes locked onto Vincenzo with pure, unadulterated predator focus.
Vincenzo’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second as he looked at the massive pit bull. "Shoot the beast!" Vincenzo screamed to his men. "Kill the dog first!"
Half a dozen mercenaries raised their assault rifles toward Titan.
“Now!” Belvin roared.
In that exact millisecond, the darkness beyond the pier erupted in gunfire.
From the upper catwalks of the nearby warehouse, Belvin’s elite sniper squad opened fire, shooting the weapons straight out of the hands of Vincenzo’s frontline guards. Metal sparks showered the concrete as rifles were blown to pieces.
Before Vincenzo’s men could react to the ambush, Titan exploded into motion.
He didn't target the guards—he locked straight onto Vincenzo Gallo.
A hundred and forty pounds of pure, terrifying muscle surged across the pier like a bullet. Vincenzo fired his silver-plated revolver wildly, the bullet whistling past Titan’s ear, but he missed entirely.
Titan slammed into Vincenzo’s chest, sending the old mob boss flying backward onto the wet concrete, his revolver clattering away into a puddle. Titan placed his massive paws squarely on Vincenzo’s chest, snapping his jaws mere inches from the terrified man's throat, pinning him instantly.
"Call off your men, Vincenzo," Belvin’s voice cut through the chaos like a razor blade as he walked slowly toward them, his pistol leveled at the center of Vincenzo’s forehead. "Or the dog finishes what he started at Corso."
Vincenzo lay flat on his back, staring up into the terrifying jaws of the pit bull, cold sweat pouring down his face, his chest heaving with absolute terror.
"I yield," Vincenzo choked out, his voice trembling. "Call him off! Call the dog off!"
Belvin raised two fingers and whistled sharply.
Titan immediately stepped back, sitting upright beside Naomi, who walked up and rested a calm hand on his brindle head.
Belvin stood over Vincenzo, looking down at his defeated rival with cold, absolute authority. "The Brooklyn docks, your shipping lines, and your real estate holdings now belong to Santoro Holdings. You have twenty-four hours to leave New York, Vincenzo. If you ever set foot in this city again, you won't live to see the sunset."
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Vincenzo nodded frantically, scrambling backward across the wet concrete like a beaten animal, before fleeing into the shadows with his surviving guards.
The pier fell silent once more, save for the gentle sound of the river waves and the heavy breathing of the victorious team.
