Chapter 8 - Dock 12
The Ford crunched to a halt behind a stack of rusted steel beams three hundred yards away from Dock 12.
Through my binoculars, the scene looked like a war zone. Four black Escalades idled near the edge of the pier, their headlights cutting through the dense harbor fog. Salvatore Moretti—a bulky, silver-haired brute whose face had been scarred by a meat-cleaver in his youth—stood near the water’s edge, smoking a thick Cuban cigar.
And sitting bound to folding chairs in the center of the pier were Olivia, Sophie, and Nora.
They weren't crying. They were huddled together, Sophie’s arms wrapped tightly around Nora’s waist, their small bodies shivering in the cold morning wind. Standing behind them with a silver-barreled revolver pressed against Sophie’s temple was Frank—my traitorous second-in-command.
“You stay here,” I told Grace, reaching for the door handle.
“Like hell I will,” she hissed, pulling her cap down low over her forehead and locking the slide on her Glock. “Frank knows my face from the federal files. If I flank them from the southern gantry, I can take out the sniper on the crane before they even realize we’re here.”
“Move on my count of three,” I said.
One.
Two.
Three.
We burst from the vehicle in opposite directions, melting into the shadows of the stacked containers like ghosts.
I moved fast, hugging the rusted metal walls, my MP5 raised and locked on target. I could hear Moretti’s booming voice echoing across the water.
“Where is he?!” Moretti roared, pacing back and forth in front of my daughters. “Your precious daddy thinks he’s a king, little girls! But tonight, the Romano dynasty dies right here in the dirt!”
Olivia slowly lifted her chin, her eyes burning with a cold, terrifying defiance that looked so much like mine it sent a chill down my spine.
“You’re stupid,” Olivia said clearly, her voice cutting through the fog. “Daddy is already here.”
Moretti stopped pacing, turning his head in confusion. “What did you say?”
“Right behind you,” I said from the top of a six-tier container stack.
Every head snapped upward.
Before Moretti could raise his weapon, I squeezed the trigger. A silenced burst of three rounds dropped Moretti’s head-of-security instantly.
Panic erupted across the pier. Men scrambled for cover behind the Escalades, shouting orders in Italian and firing wildly into the air.
Crack!
From the southern gantry, Grace’s sniper rifle barked once. The sniper perched on the crane tumbled backward into the harbor with a heavy splash.
“Frank!” I roared, dropping down from the container stack onto the asphalt fifteen feet away from my former captain. “Drop the gun!”
Frank’s face twisted into a mask of pure panic. He pressed the barrel of his revolver harder against Sophie’s temple. “Stay back, Dominic! One step and the kid’s brains are on the pavement!”
Olivia didn't flinch. Instead, she whispered something into Nora’s ear.
And then, softly, the three little girls began to sing.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...”
Their voices weren't trembling anymore. They were clear, resonant, and hauntingly beautiful against the roar of the harbor wind.
Frank’s hand shook violently. The sudden, unexpected sound of those children singing broke his concentration for a fraction of a second.
That fraction of a second was all I needed.
I didn't aim for Frank’s chest. I raised my MP5 and fired a single round through his right wrist.
The revolver dropped from his hand with a metallic clatter as Frank shrieked in agony, clutching his shattered wrist.
Before he could hit the ground, I crossed the distance between us, grabbed him by the lapels of his expensive Italian suit, and threw him against the side of a steel container.
“You sold out my family,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the wind, but carrying the weight of a thousand executions.
“Dominic... please... Moretti forced me—!” Frank choked out, blood pooling from his wrist.
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“You had your chance to be a brother,” I said coldly. “Now you’re just garbage.”
I didn't pull the trigger. I threw him into the freezing waters of the harbor, where Moretti’s surviving men were already scrambling into their speedboats to flee for their lives.
