Chapter 6 - The Gathering Storm
The night air at the eastern docks smelled of salt water, diesel fuel, and rust.
Warehouse Four sat at the end of a deserted pier, its corrugated metal walls echoing with the harsh sound of crashing waves below. Inside, under the dim glare of hanging yellow lights, sat Don Sal Romano—a heavy-set man in his late fifties with slicked-back gray hair and a face marked by decades of violence.
Around him stood a dozen heavily armed men carrying submachine guns.
The heavy steel doors of the warehouse creaked open, and Mateo Moretti walked in alone, his hands casually resting in his coat pockets. Marco and his men stayed outside, positioning themselves in the shadows around the perimeter.
"Mateo!" Romano laughed loudly, spreading his arms wide. "You finally made it! I was beginning to think you were too busy entertaining household servants to attend to business."
Mateo didn't smile. He stopped ten feet away from Romano’s table.
"You took my warehouse, Sal," Mateo said calmly. "You have five minutes to take your men and leave before I clear this pier."
Romano’s laughter died down, replaced by a cold, arrogant sneer. He leaned forward, resting his thick hands on the table.
"You're getting soft, Mateo. Keeping guests waiting, letting maids eat at your table. Word travels fast in this city. People are saying the great Mateo Moretti is losing his edge."
"Word travels slow if that’s what you think," Mateo replied coldly.
Romano stood up, his posture threatening. "I want the eastern shipping lines, Mateo. Hand them over, and we maintain the peace. Refuse, and I start taking your assets one by one. Starting with the secrets you're keeping in that big mansion of yours."
Mateo’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Secrets?"
Romano pulled a small photograph from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. It was a grainy surveillance picture of Elena stepping out of a pharmacy the previous night, holding a paper bag.
"Julian Ross’s wife," Romano sneered, a murderous glint in his eyes. "That rat stole three million from my family. His blood owes me. I hear she’s living under your roof, scrubbing your floors. Hand her and her kids over to me, and maybe I let you keep the docks."
The warehouse fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The ambient hum of the ocean outside seemed to fade away.
Mateo looked at the photograph on the table, then raised his eyes to Romano.
"Julian Ross is a dead man hiding in South America," Mateo said, his voice dropping into a register that made the guards around Romano shift uncomfortably. "His wife and children are under my protection."
"They aren't your family, Mateo!" Romano spat. "She's just a maid!"
"In my house," Mateo said, stepping forward, his presence filling the vast space, "anyone who eats at my table is under my guard. Touch them, and I will destroy everything you have ever built."
Romano’s face flushed red with rage. He raised his hand to signal his guards—
BANG!
May you like
A single rifle shot shattered the high window of the warehouse, taking out the main overhead light. The room plunged into near darkness, illuminated only by the frantic flashes of gunfire as Marco and the Moretti strike team breached the side entrances.
Chaos erupted.
