Chapter 3 - Pier 42
The smell of salt water and rotting wood hung heavy over Pier 42. Snow accumulated in gray drifts against rusted shipping containers, and the Hudson River churned beneath the pier like liquid iron.
I stepped out of the black Cadillac, my wool coat pulled tight against the wind. Behind me, four armored sedans came to a halt, their engines humming quietly. Ten of my best men stepped into the snow, silenced submachine guns hidden beneath their overcoats.
"Structure at the end of the pier," Leo whispered, pointing toward a derelict corrugated-iron warehouse. "Power lines are active. They've got two lookouts on the roof."
"Take out the lookouts," I commanded smoothly. "No noise. I want to talk to whoever is running this circus before they know we're inside."
Leo gestured to two snipers, who slipped into the shadows between the storage crates. A moment later, two soft thwips echoed over the sound of the howling wind. Above us, two dark figures collapsed against the metal roof of the warehouse, motionless.
"Clear," Leo reported.
We breached the side entrance with a hydraulic cutter, slicing through the deadbolt in silence. Inside, the warehouse smelled of diesel fuel, damp concrete, and metallic copper—blood.
In the center of the vast, hollow space, illuminated by a single dangling halogen bulb, a woman was tied to a steel folding chair. Her clothes were torn, her hair matted with blood. Standing over her was a man I recognized instantly: Frankie "The Hammer" Rizzio, Valenti's primary enforcer. He was a brutish, brainless killer who enjoyed his work far too much.
"Where is the flash drive, Elena?" Frankie barked, slapping her across the face with a heavy, leather-gloved hand. Her head snapped back, a quiet groan escaping her lips. "You hid it somewhere before you ran. Tell me where it is, or I start breaking fingers!"
"I don't... have it..." Elena gasped, spitting blood onto the cold floor. "I gave it... to someone you can't touch..."
Frankie laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Who? The feds? They're on Valenti's payroll, lady! You got nowhere to hide!"
"She doesn't need to hide," I said, stepping out from the shadows into the ring of light. "She's already home."
Frankie whipped around, his hand reaching for the pistol at his hip, but before his fingers could brush the leather holster, three red laser dots hovered over his forehead. My men stepped out from the darkness in a perfect semicircle, their weapons raised, cold eyes fixed on his chest.
Frankie froze, his face draining of color as he recognized me. "Moretti... What the hell are you doing here? This is Valenti business!"
"You're standing on my land, Frankie," I said, walking slowly toward him, my polished leather shoes clicking against the concrete. "You brought a woman into my borough. You spilled blood on my territory. And worst of all, you made her daughter cry in my bakery."
Frankie swallowed hard, his bravado vanishing. "Look, Calder... Don Salvatore sent us. The broad stole from us. She's got files that—"
I didn't let him finish. I drew a small, suppressed pistol from my shoulder holster and fired a single round through Frankie's knee.
He screamed, falling to the floor, clutching his shattered leg as blood pool beneath him in the dust. His two henchmen immediately dropped their weapons and put their hands above their heads.
I ignored Frankie's groans, stepping over him to reach the woman tied to the chair. I pulled a silver knife from my pocket and sliced through her ropes.
"Elena Vance?" I asked softly.
May you like
She looked up at me, her brown eyes wild with terror and exhaustion. "Emma..." she sobbed, clutching my arm. "Where is Emma? Did they get her?"
"Emma is safe," I said, wrapping my coat around her shivering shoulders. "She's eating ice cream at my house. And now, Mrs. Vance, you're going to tell me what Valenti is so afraid of."
