Chapter 6 - The South Docks
An hour later, a nondescript, mud-spattered delivery van pulled to a stop beneath the rusted iron trestles of the south riverbank.
The rain was coming down in sheets now, turning the dirt tracks along the river into slick black mud. Fog rolled off the dark water, enveloping the abandoned industrial warehouses in a ghostlike haze.
Sofía stepped out of the van, wearing a thick black tactical raincoat, warm boots, and a dark beanie provided by Matteo. She carried a heavy crowbar in her gloved hands.
Matteo walked beside her, a suppressed pistol concealed beneath his coat, his eyes constantly sweeping the surrounding darkness. Two of his top scouts trailed fifty yards behind them, silent shadows in the fog.
"The old water mill is just ahead," Sofía whispered, pointing toward a crumbling red-brick structure rising out of the river reeds.
They slipped through a rusted gap in the chain-link fence and stepped inside the hollow shell of the building. The roof had long since collapsed, leaving the interior exposed to the elements. Rotting timber beams lay strewn across muddy floorboards, covered in decades of moss and debris.
Sofía navigated through the dark structure with eerie accuracy, guided by muscle memory built in her childhood. She stopped beside a massive square stone pillar that supported the northern archway.
"Here," Sofía said, kneeling down in the dirt.
She used the tip of the crowbar to pry up two heavy, rot-resistant oak floorboards. Beneath lay a shallow, stone-lined cavity filled with dry river sand.
Sofía dug her fingers into the cold sand, her nails scraping against cold, heavy metal.
She pulled out a small, rectangular iron lockbox, heavy with rusty padlocks. The metal was pitted and dark, but the intricate brass engraving on the lid—a soaring songbird—was perfectly preserved.
"My mother's box," Sofía breathed, her eyes shining in the dark.
Matteo knelt beside her, pulled a set of tactical lockpicks from his pocket, and worked the rusted keyhole. With a sharp, metallic CLICK, the ancient lock gave way.
Matteo lifted the heavy lid.
Inside lay two things: a thick, leather-bound notebook crammed with handwritten dates, financial figures, and signatures—the deadly Rivera ledger—and a small velvet pouch.
Matteo reached into the pouch and pulled out a delicate silver chain holding a tiny medallion.
It was the matching silver locket from the twenty-year-old photograph.
Sofía reached out with a trembling hand, her fingers closing around the cold silver. She opened the tiny clasp. Inside was a microscopic portrait of her mother, smiling under the summer sun.
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"She kept it safe for you," Matteo whispered softly. "All these years."
Sofía pressed the locket to her lips, a single tear slipping past her lashes. "Now it's time to save Elena."
