Chapter 4 - Midnight at the Docks
The fog rolled thick off the Hudson River, obscuring the decaying framework of Pier 54. The rusted corrugated metal walls echoed with the distant sound of crashing waves and the low rumble of idling engines.
I stepped out of the black armored SUV, flanked by forty of my best men. In my arms, I carried a heavy tactical duffel bag filled with C4 explosives and high-caliber weaponry.
Mateo checked his watch. “Midnight, boss. They’re waiting inside warehouse three.”
“Move in, but don’t fire until I give the word. I want to look the bastard in the eye before I take his head off.”
We breached the rusted double doors of warehouse three in unison. The cavernous space was dimly lit by swinging overhead work lights. Standing in the center, surrounded by two dozen heavily armed Russian enforcers, was Viktor Rostov—one of the most feared syndicate bosses in Eastern Europe.
At Viktor’s side stood a trembling, middle-aged man holding a briefcase, and—to my absolute fury—a tied-up figure in a chair.
My heart hammered against my ribs. It was Sloan.
She had managed to slip out of the penthouse to try and trade herself for Willa, foolishly believing she could outsmart them. Her cheek was bruised, and a small cut bled from her lip, but her green eyes blazed with furious defiance as she saw me.
“Vincent, you idiot!” she screamed, straining against the ropes. “Why did you come? It was a trap!”
Viktor Rostov laughed, a harsh, grating sound that bounced off the metal rafters. He stepped forward, spreading his arms wide.
“Ah, the great Vincent Moretti! Billionaire by day, butcher by night. And you walked right into the lion’s den.” Viktor pulled a small, silver-plated pistol and pressed it against Sloan’s temple. “Drop your weapons, Moretti. Or I scatter your wife across the concrete right now.”
My enforcers raised their rifles, tension thickening the air so heavily a single spark could ignite a bloodbath.
“You wanted the bloodline trust, Viktor,” I said, walking forward alone, my hands raised to show I was unarmed. “You wanted my daughter. Let Sloan go, and I’ll give you the key to the empire.”
Viktor grinned, his eyes gleaming with greed. “Smart man. Hand over the briefcase with the bearer bonds, and the woman walks.”
I reached into my coat slowly, pulling out a heavy leather folio and tossing it onto the concrete at his feet. Viktor motioned for his accountant to check it.
As the accountant knelt to open the folio, I caught Sloan’s eye. She gave me a tiny, imperceptible nod. She hadn’t come alone. She had tripped the silent GPS tracker in my watch the second she was captured.
The accountant looked up, pale-faced. “It’s real, boss. It’s all here.”
“Good,” Viktor smiled, cocking his pistol. “Now, about the baby—”
“There is no baby,” I interrupted, a cold, predatory smile spreading across my face.
Viktor frowned. “What?”
“Did you really think I’d bring my four-week-old daughter into a war zone?” I laughed softly. “Willa is safe in a bunker three hundred feet underground, surrounded by sixty heavily armed men. You never had the leverage, Viktor.”
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Rostov’s face twisted into blind, murderous rage. “Kill him! Kill them all!”
Before his finger could tighten on the trigger, I hit the detonator switch hidden in my palm.
