Chapter 2 - THE OLD DOCK WAREHOUSE
The black SUV tore through the midnight downpour, its tires spraying dirty river water as it skidded into Pier 17.
Inside the back seat, Vincent checked the clip on his suppressed Sig Sauer pistol, his face carved from cold stone. Lily sat tightly beside Marco, wrapped in a heavy wool coat that drowned her small frame.
"Stay in the vehicle, Marco," Vincent commanded, racking the slide of his weapon with a sharp clack. "If anyone gets within ten paces of this truck, shoot first."
"Understood, Boss," Marco replied, drawing his weapon and locking the doors.
Vincent stepped out into the rain, accompanied by three of his top enforcers. Pier 17 was a graveyard of rusty steel girders and decaying brick warehouses.
Ahead stood Warehouse 4—a derelict sugar refinery with broken windows that looked like hollow eye sockets staring out over the black water.
A faint light flickered from deep within the superstructure.
Vincent signaled his men. They moved like wraiths through the shadows, splitting up to cover the rusted side exits. Vincent took the central loading door, kicking it open with a thunderous bang that shattered the silence!
The rusted iron door smashed inward, echoing through the cavernous space.
"MORETTI!" a voice yelled from the center of the warehouse floor.
Standing beneath a single hanging bulb was Elena Vale.
Her hands were bound tightly behind her back with thick zip-ties, her white blouse torn and stained with grease and dried blood. Beside her stood three heavily armed men wearing dark tactical gear, their faces hidden by ballistic masks.
One of them held a chrome-plated revolver directly against Elena’s temple.
Vincent stepped into the light, his pistol trained on the lead gunman’s eye.
When Elena saw him, her breathing hitched. Her dark brown eyes—the same eyes that had haunted Vincent’s dreams for twelve long, torturous years—grew wide with horror and awe.
"Vincent..." she sobbed, her voice trembling. "No... you shouldn't have come... it's a trap!"
"Shut up!" the lead gunman barked, shoving the revolver deeper into her hair. "Vincent Moretti. The undisputed Don of Manhattan. You actually came for a dead girl."
Vincent didn't blink. "You have five seconds to take your hands off her before I put a bullet through your jaw."
"Your brother Julian was soft, Moretti," the gunman mocked, his voice distorted through his mask. "He thought he could leave the syndicate. He thought he could run away with Elena. That’s why we killed him."
Vincent’s chest tightened, a cold wave of realization washing over him.
Twelve years ago, his older brother Julian—the former heir to the Moretti empire—had been assassinated in a fire. Vincent had been told Elena died in the same blaze.
"Who sent you?" Vincent asked, his voice dropping into a register so dangerously low that even the gunman faltered for a fraction of a second.
"The man who controls you," the gunman sneered.
Before the gunman could pull his trigger, Vincent fired!
The suppressed round struck the gunman precisely between his eyes, blowing him backward onto the concrete!
Chaos erupted!
The remaining two gunmen opened fire wildly! Vincent dove behind a heavy wooden crate as bullets splintered the oak boards above his head. His two enforcers burst through the side doors, returning lethal fire with surgical precision!
Within seven seconds, all three attackers lay silent on the blood-soaked floor.
Silence returned to the warehouse, save for the patter of rain against the corrugated tin roof.
Vincent stood up slowly, holstering his weapon. He walked toward Elena, stepping over the body of the lead gunman.
Elena fell to her knees, shivering uncontrollably as tears washed the soot from her face.
Vincent knelt before her. He pulled a small tactical blade from his belt and sliced through her bindings, freeing her wrists.
Elena immediately clutched her bruised wrists, looking up into his face.
"You're alive," Vincent whispered, his hand trembling as he gently brushed a strand of wet hair away from her forehead. "All these years... I buried an empty casket."
Elena looked at him, her eyes drowning in immense grief. "Vincent... I wanted to come back. I swear to God I wanted to come back. But they told me if I ever contacted you... they would kill Julian's child."
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Vincent went completely still, his heart stopping in his chest. "Julian's... child?"
"Lily," Elena sobbed, gripping Vincent’s hand with desperate force. "Lily is Julian's daughter. Your niece, Vincent."
