Chapter 9 - The Ambush at MidnightThe night air off the Delaware River was freezing.
Rain slicked the concrete of Pier Nineteen, reflecting the amber glare of the industrial crane lights overhead. A massive container ship sat docked against the concrete pier, its iron hull groaning against the heavy rubber bumpers.
Inside the shadow of warehouse four, Matteo Moretti stood motionless, holding a pair of military-grade night-vision binoculars. Frank Delaney stood beside him, checking the action of a suppressed submachine gun with mechanical precision.
Ten yards away, tied to a wooden shipping pallet with heavy zip-ties, sat Luca Vieri. His expensive gray suit was stained with mud, his face bruised where Frank had introduced him to a concrete wall an hour earlier.
"They're coming," Frank muttered, lowering his binoculars.
From the end of the access road, a convoy of three unmarked black SUVs sped through the security gate without stopping, their headlights cutting through the sheets of rain. The vehicles skidded to a halt near the base of the crane.
Doors flew open. Armed men in tactical gear poured out, led by a tall, silver-haired man in a tailored trench coat—Arthur Vance, the managing director of Vanguard Syndicate and a sitting member of the city’s financial oversight committee.
"Vance," Matteo whispered, a dark, lethal smile touching his lips.
Vance walked toward the ship, stepping over puddles with an air of arrogant confidence. He looked at Luca tied to the pallet and laughed.
"Looks like your boss isn't as smart as you thought, Luca," Vance called out, pulling a digital tablet from his coat to access the cargo manifest. "Once we seize these containers, Moretti’s entire supply chain collapses within twenty-four hours."
"You're making a mistake, Vance," a calm, smooth voice echoed from the shadows of the warehouse entrance.
Vance spun around, raising his hand to signal his men.
Step by step, Matteo Moretti walked out into the rain, his charcoal suit unbuttoned, his hands shoved casually into his pockets. Behind him, a dozen armed enforcers fanned out along the rooflines and container stacks, their weapons locked squarely on Vanguard's tactical team.
And standing right beside Matteo, wearing a sleek black trench coat and holding a encrypted laptop, was Tessa Bell.
Vance’s face went pale. "Moretti... how?"
"Bad grammar, Mr. Vance," Matteo said, his voice cutting like glass through the rain. "You should always check your sources. And never underestimate a woman who knows how to read between the lines."
Before Vance could shout an order, Frank Delaney and his team opened fire with non-lethal suppression rounds, sweeping the pier in seconds. Vanguard's mercenaries dropped their weapons as tactical flash-bangs detonated with blinding, deafening concussions.
In less than three minutes, the ambush was over.
Vance was shoved hard against the concrete beside Luca Vieri, both of them staring up at Matteo Moretti with absolute terror in their eyes.
May you like
Matteo walked over, looking down at Vance with cold, absolute disdain.
"Take them to the lower dock," Matteo ordered Frank. Then, he turned his head and looked at Tessa. "And call our legal team. Tell them we have a new corporate restructuring to announce in the morning."
