Chapter 5 - The Arrival of the VanguardThe heavy roar of a second armored vehicle drowned out the sound of the crashing waves.
Gabriel’s Suburban smashed through the chained perimeter gate of the pier, sliding sideways in a dramatic arc of spray and gravel before coming to a violent stop just feet from where Victor stood.
The passenger door swung open, and Gabriel stepped out, his rifle leveled squarely at Victor’s head.
“Drop the weapon, Victor. The game is over,” Gabriel shouted, his voice echoing across the empty harbor.
Victor’s expression twisted from calculated confidence into sheer panic. He looked back at the churning, freezing black water of the harbor, then back at me, weapon still raised in a desperate, last-ditch gamble.
“If I go down, you’re coming with me, Alessandro!” Victor screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger.
I didn't hesitate.
Bang.
The sharp crack of my Beretta pierced the stormy air.
The bullet struck Victor’s wrist with surgical precision, shattering bone and sending his pistol spinning out of his hand and over the edge of the dock into the dark abyss below. Victor stumbled backward, clutching his bloody wrist with a cry of agony, dropping hard to his knees on the slick wooden planks.
I walked up slowly, standing over him as the rain washed the blood from his fingers into the puddles below.
“Twenty-five years,” I repeated quietly, looking down at the man who had been my shadow. “And you threw it all away for a seat at a table that was never yours.”
Victor glared up at me, spitting blood onto the wood. “You think... you think stopping me changes anything? The Calderons... they already have the bank access codes. Your accounts are locked. Your assets are frozen. By noon today, every capo in the syndicate will turn their backs on you.”
“Let them try,” I said coldly.
I motioned to Gabriel, who stepped forward with a pair of heavy tactical zip-ties, binding Victor’s hands behind his back with practiced efficiency.
“Toss him in the back of the rig,” I ordered. “We’re taking him home. The real trial is going to happen in front of the entire syndicate council tonight.”
As Gabriel hauled the groaning traitor to his feet, my satellite phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out and flipped it open. It was Marcus, the information broker.
“Moretti,” Marcus’s gravelly voice came through loud and clear. “I finished running those financial traces you asked for.”
“And?”
“Victor didn't just wire money to Sterling Logistics. He routed the primary syndicate reserve funds through a shell company registered in Zurich. But here’s the kicker—the ultimate beneficiary of that shell company isn't the Calderon cartel.”
May you like
My grip tightened on the phone. “Who is it?”
“Your own nephew, Marco Moretti.”
