Chapter 4 - The Docks at Midnight
The rain was coming down in relentless, icy sheets over Boston Harbor. Warehouse 14 stood at the edge of Pier 9, an abandoned brick structure that smelled of old salt, rust, and oil.
Marcus Vance pulled his black leather jacket tight around his neck as he stepped through the side door, his hand resting instinctively near the holster beneath his arm. The warehouse was dark, save for a single overhead bulb swaying gently in the draft, casting long, dancing shadows across the concrete floor.
“Boss?” Marcus called out, his voice echoing off the corrugated iron walls. “Mateo said you found something?”
From the gloom behind a stack of shipping crates, a figure stepped forward. Roman Mercer walked into the circle of light, dressed in a long dark trench coat. He was alone.
“Marcus,” Roman said softly.
Marcus relaxed slightly, taking a step forward. “Mateo said you had a lead on the wife. Is it real? Did the Morettis have her?”
Roman looked at his head of security—a man he had bought a house for when his child was born, a man whose medical bills he had paid when his wife had cancer.
“She wasn't with the Morettis, Marcus,” Roman said quietly. “She was in Revere. In a basement.”
Marcus’s hand twitched slightly toward his jacket, but he caught himself, forcing a confused expression onto his face. “Revere? What was she doing in Revere?”
“She was hiding,” Roman replied, taking a step closer. “From Thomas. And from you.”
The air in the warehouse instantly turned to ice. Marcus froze, his eyes widening in a split second of pure panic. His hand darted toward his shoulder holster, but before his fingers could brush the leather grip, a heavy, silent shadow stepped out from the darkness behind him.
Mateo slammed the barrel of a suppressed pistol against the back of Marcus’s skull. Marcus went down hard onto the wet concrete, groaning as blood welled from a gash on his forehead.
Roman walked over, calmly kicking Marcus’s weapon across the floor, away from his reach. He stooped down, grabbing Marcus by the lapels of his leather coat and dragging him upright, pinning him against a steel support pillar.
“Six years,” Roman whispered, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, silent fury. “Six years I trusted you with my life. With my home. With my wife.”
“Roman... please,” Marcus wheezed, blood dripping down his nose. “He... he had my family! Thomas showed me photos of my daughter’s school! He said he’d kill her if I didn't turn off the cameras that night!”
“Don't lie to me!” Roman roared, the sudden explosion of his voice rattling the metal beams above them. He slammed Marcus back against the pillar. “I checked the offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands two hours ago! Thomas didn't threaten you, Marcus. He paid you two million dollars! You sold my wife for two million dollars!”
Marcus choked, the lie collapsing under the weight of Roman’s absolute knowledge. Tears of terror began to mix with the blood on his cheeks. “He said... he said she’d just go away! He said he wouldn't kill her, he just wanted her out of the picture so you’d focus back on the business!”
“She was pregnant, Marcus,” Roman said, his voice dropping back into that terrifying, calm whisper. “She spent seven months eating out of a food pantry while you bought a new yacht in Florida.”
“Roman, please! I’ll tell you everything! I’ll help you take Thomas down!” Marcus begged, his legs giving out beneath him.
Roman looked at Mateo, who stood nearby holding a satellite phone.
“Is Thomas’s personal line secure?” Roman asked.
“It’s ringing now, boss,” Mateo replied, handing the phone to Roman.
Roman held the phone up to Marcus’s ear as the line connected.
“Marcus?” Thomas’s sharp, impatient voice came through the speaker. “Where the hell are you? Why aren't you at the South Boston site?”
Marcus looked at Roman’s cold, lifeless eyes and swallowed hard, his whole body trembling violently.
“Speak,” Roman commanded in a silent mouth movement.
“Thomas...” Marcus croaked, struggling to keep his voice steady. “We... we have a problem. Roman found her. He’s taking her to the Brookline property right now.”
A long, suffocating silence hung on the other end of the line. When Thomas spoke again, all warmth had drained from his tone.
“Is she alive?” Thomas asked.
“Yes,” Marcus lied, as instructed by Roman’s stern hand gesture. “She’s alive. She’s... she’s in labor, Thomas. They’re calling in a doctor.”
“Fool,” Thomas hissed through the phone. “If that child is born, Roman will never hand over the northern territory to me. Bring four guys from the docks. Meet me at the Brookline perimeter in an hour. We finish this tonight before that bastard child breathes air.”
The call disconnected.
Roman slowly lowered the phone, looking at Marcus.
“You gave him what he wanted,” Roman said softly.
“Are... are you going to kill me?” Marcus whimpered.
May you like
Roman stepped back, turning his back on his former bodyguard. “Mateo, clear the floor. We have an ambush to set.”
As Roman walked out into the pouring rain, a single suppressed gunshot echoed from inside Warehouse 14, swallowed immediately by the roaring storm.
