Chapter 7 - Ambush at Pier 42
Pier 42 jutted out into the dark, churning waters of the East River like a rust-covered finger. Massive shipping containers were stacked three stories high in neat rows, casting long, menacing shadows under the dim halogen floodlights.
The rain had softened into a thick, low-hanging fog that rolled off the river, muffling the sound of the waves crashing against the wooden pylons.
Landon parked the sedan two blocks away behind an abandoned warehouse. He turned off the headlights, leaving the cabin in darkness.
"Marco, stay with Clara and Leo," Landon instructed, checking the magazine of his tactical sidearm. "If anyone comes within fifty yards of this car, eliminate them."
"Landon, wait," Clara said, reaching out to catch his sleeve. Her gray-blue eyes were filled with genuine concern. "There are too many of them inside. Let Paulie’s team go in first."
Landon looked at her, his hand briefly resting over hers on his arm. "Paulie's team is taking out the perimeter guards right now. But Victor Falcone is inside that main office building, and he won't wait for a formal invitation." He glanced back at Leo, who was fast asleep under his blanket in the rear seat. "I'm ending this tonight so my nephew never has to live in hiding again."
He slipped out of the car, dissolving into the fog like a shadow.
Inside the sprawling central warehouse of Pier 42, three black luxury SUVs were parked in a semicircle around a makeshift wooden table. Sitting at the table was Victor Falcone—a heavy-set man in his sixties with slicked-back silver hair and a tailored pinstripe suit. Two dozen heavily armed guards stood positioned around the perimeter, holding assault rifles.
Standing across from Victor was a middle-aged man in a sharp grey coat—Julian Rossi, Santino’s former chief financial officer, and the true architect of the internal betrayal.
"Dominic isn't answering his phone," Julian said nervously, pacing back and forth across the concrete floor. "He was supposed to confirm the waitress was eliminated an hour ago."
Victor Falcone casually poured himself a glass of scotch from a crystal decanter resting on the table. "Dominic is a brute, Julian. He probably got distracted. It doesn't matter. The wire transfers are complete. The dock security contracts are signed. As of five minutes ago, the Moretti family is bankrupt."
"Is that so, Victor?" a voice rang out from the darkness above.
Victor froze, his glass stopping halfway to his mouth.
High above the floor, standing on a narrow steel catwalk suspended between two crane structures, was Landon Moretti.
Before Falcone’s guards could raise their rifles, red laser sight dots flashed through the fog from every high window and overhead beam. Paulie’s tactical team had taken positions throughout the rafters, catching Falcone’s men completely surrounded.
"Drop your weapons!" Paulie’s voice boomed through a megaphone from the rafters. "Now!"
Panic erupted on the warehouse floor. Three of Falcone’s guards tried to draw their weapons, but quiet, precise shots echoed from above, dropping them instantly to the concrete floor. The remaining guards immediately threw their rifles down, raising their hands in surrender.
Julian Rossi turned white as a sheet, dropping to his knees with his hands over his head. "Landon! Please! It was Victor! He forced me! He threatened my family!"
Landon walked down the iron spiral staircase slowly, his footsteps echoing through the quiet space. He stopped ten feet from the table, looking down at Victor Falcone with absolute indifference.
"You killed my brother for cargo routes, Victor," Landon said softly.
May you like
Victor sneered, despite the red laser dots trained on his chest. "Santino was a fool who thought he could run a modern empire with old-fashioned honor. This city belongs to men who take what they want, Landon!"
"No," Landon replied, drawing his weapon. "This city belongs to the people who survive you."
