Chapter 7 - The Ambush at Port Pier 9
The peaceful illusion of the gala shattered three weeks later on a freezing rainy midnight at Port Pier 9.
A major international cargo vessel carrying fifty million dollars worth of legitimate pharmaceuticals—and crucial supply manifests for Moretti Logistics—had been detained by corrupted port customs agents operating under secret orders from the remaining Rossini loyalists.
Adriano had insisted on inspecting the paperwork at the docks personally, and Helena had refused to let him go without her.
They sat in the rear of the armored black sedan parked inside a dark, cavernous shipping warehouse, surrounded by mountains of steel containers. Outside, the rain lashed viciously against the metal roof.
"The customs hold is completely illegal," Helena said, reviewing the digital manifests on her tablet. "I can file an emergency injunction with Federal Judge Sterling at eight in the morning. They can't hold these containers past sunrise without violating federal maritime code."
"Eight in the morning is too late," Adriano said, looking out the tinted window into the shadows of the warehouse. "The temperature control units on those containers will fail by four a.m. If the pharmaceuticals spoil, the hospital networks lose their supply, and I take a loss of twenty million dollars."
Before Helena could respond, Marco—sitting in the driver's seat—suddenly reached for his radio. "Boss! We've got movement on the south catwalks! Sector 3!"
A split second later, the dark warehouse exploded into absolute chaos.
The heavy glass of the warehouse office shattered as automatic gunfire erupted from the high catwalks above. Bullets slammed against the reinforced steel body of Adriano's sedan like hail, the heavy armor plating groaning under the violent impact.
"Get down!" Adriano shouted, grabbing Helena by the shoulders and pulling her violently down onto the leather seat beneath his body.
He shielded her completely with his broad frame, his heavy suit jacket smelling of expensive cologne and gunpowder as he pulled a black semi-automatic pistol from his shoulder holster.
"Marco, get us out of here!" Adriano barked into his lapel radio.
"Tires are blown, Boss!" Marco yelled back, firing his own weapon through the armored gun-port in the driver's door. "They set up spike strips at the main gate! We're pinned!"
Helena lay squeezed beneath Adriano's weight, her chest rising and falling in rapid, terrified gasps. Above them, the deafening roar of automatic weapons echoed through the cavernous building. Bullets ricocheted off the concrete floor, sending sparks flying through the dark.
"Helena," Adriano whispered, his face inches from hers in the dim light of the vehicle's interior. His voice was shockingly calm, an island of total composure in the middle of a warzone. "Look at me."
She forced her eyes up to meet his storm-gray gaze.
"Are you hurt?" he asked softly.
"N-no," she managed to choke out, her hands clutching tightly to the lapels of his coat. "Are you?"
"I am fine," he lied smoothly, though she could feel a sharp tremor in his left shoulder. "Listen to me. The floor of this car is reinforced ballistics steel. You stay down here, no matter what happens. Do you understand me?"
"Adriano, don't go out there!" she begged, terror gripping her heart with icy claws.
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"They came here to destroy my livelihood and murder my legal counsel," Adriano said, his eyes turning to liquid iron. "They made a fatal mistake."
He leaned down, pressed his lips fiercely against hers in a brief, burning kiss that tasted of rain and adrenaline, then kicked the rear door open into the dark.
