Chapter 8 - Midnight at the Docks
Midnight at the West Side shipping docks was a labyrinth of towering steel containers, flickering halogen floodlights, and the rhythmic lapping of dark water against the concrete piers.
The subterranean parking garage beneath the cigar club on 8th Avenue was even darker—a concrete cavern filled with luxury sedans and damp shadows.
Gregory Vance leaned against the hood of his black sedan, checking his watch for the third time in five minutes. "She should have uploaded the encrypted backup to the drop point by now. Once we have those container codes, Thorne's buyers in New Jersey will move the first shipment by dawn."
From the shadows behind the concrete pillars, heavy boots crunched softly against the gravel.
Gregory frowned, straightening up. "Thorne? Is that you?"
The darkness didn't answer. Instead, the overhead fluorescent lights flickered once, twice, and then went completely dark, plunging the garage into pitch blackness.
"What the—" Gregory reached inside his coat for his pistol, but before his fingers could wrap around the grip, a heavy hand gripped his shoulder with the force of a hydraulic press, spinning him around and slamming him hard against the side of his car.
The breath exploded from Gregory's lungs in a ragged gasp.
As emergency red backup lights kicked on overhead, casting a bloody crimson glow across the concrete, Dominic Moretti stepped out from the shadows. Behind him stood Marcus and four armed security veterans, their weapons held at ready.
From the far corner of the garage, two more men dragged a struggling, cursing Victor Thorne forward, shoving him to his knees beside Gregory.
"Gregory," Dominic said, his voice a low, terrifying hum that echoed off the concrete walls. "You always were ambitious. Too bad your ambition outgrew your survival instinct."
Gregory struggled against the grip holding him against the car, his face pale with sudden, blinding terror. "Dominic—wait! We can talk about this! It was just business—leverage against the corporation—"
"It wasn't business," Dominic interrupted smoothly, walking closer until he stood inches from Gregory's face. "It was cowardice. You tried to break a mother who had more courage in her little finger than you've had in your entire miserable life."
"You're going to kill me over some office temp?!" Gregory screamed, panic overriding his discretion.
"No," Dominic said coldly. "I'm not going to kill you. That would be too clean. Federal marshals are upstairs right now, executing warrants for corporate espionage, international extortion, and racketeering. You'll spend the next thirty years meditating on your mistakes in a federal penitentiary where nobody knows your name."
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Marcus stepped forward, clicking heavy steel handcuffs around Gregory's wrists and hauling him up off the ground. Thorne was already being hauled away toward a waiting federal transport van parked by the exit ramp.
Dominic stood alone in the crimson-lit garage for a long moment, watching them go. The threat was neutralized. The rot had been excised. The empire remained intact, anchored not just by steel and concrete, but by loyalty that couldn't be bought or broken.
