Chapter 9 - The Siege of Dock 14
Dock 14 on Chicago's eastern shore was an abandoned industrial warehouse surrounded by shipping containers and freezing lake waters.
Inside the cavernous, dimly lit warehouse, six heavily armed men stood watch near a makeshift office. Inside the office, sitting on a wooden chair wrapped in a warm blanket, was Lily. She was holding her one-eared stuffed rabbit, her small face brave despite the tears drying on her cheeks.
Standing near the window was Victor Moretti, holding a glass of scotch, his face flushed with nervous excitement. Beside him stood his head enforcer, a scarred brute named Roman.
"Is the boat ready?" Victor asked, taking a quick sip.
"Ready at the pier, boss," Roman replied. "As soon as Carver surrenders the south dock deeds, we put the kid on the boat to Canada. He'll never find her."
"He thought he could humiliate my family," Victor spat bitterly, looking over at the little girl. "He thought he could replace my daughter with a servant's child. I'll make him beg on his knees before this night is over."
Suddenly, the warehouse's main industrial lights went pitch black.
The heavy hum of the building's generator cut out completely.
"What the hell?" Roman grunted, pulling his heavy pistol. "Check the breaker!"
CRASH!
The massive steel roll-up door at the front of the warehouse didn't just open—it was obliterated.
A sixty-ton armored SWAT-style breacher truck rammed straight through the reinforced steel doors, shattering the wooden framework and sending clouds of dust and concrete flying through the air.
Before the dust could clear, flashbang grenades rained down from the shattered skylights above.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Blinding white light and deafening booms filled the warehouse, throwing Moretti's men into complete, disoriented panic.
"FIRE! FIRE!" Roman screamed, shooting blindly into the smoke.
From the darkness stepped the Carver strike team—twenty heavily armed tactical soldiers moving with surgical precision.
Leading them was Vincent Carver.
He wasn't wearing a tuxedo. He wore black tactical armor, an automatic rifle held flush against his shoulder, his face illuminated only by the green glow of his night-vision gear.
TAT-TAT-TAT!
Vincent advanced through the smoke like an unstoppable force of nature. Every trigger pull was precise, two-round bursts dropping Moretti’s mercenaries before they could even aim their weapons. Beside him, Marcus laid down a lethal wall of suppression fire, clearing the eastern catwalks in seconds.
"COVER THE OFFICE!" Roman yelled, trying to fall back toward the wooden room.
Vincent saw Roman moving toward the door where Lily was held.
An unholy fury erupted in Vincent’s chest. He dropped his rifle, pulled two heavy automatic handguns from his tactical vest, and sprinted straight into the line of fire.
He didn't take cover. He stepped directly into the open aisle, firing both handguns simultaneously with terrifying accuracy.
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
Roman’s shoulder shattered under the impact of heavy hollow-point rounds, spinning him around before a third bullet caught him cleanly in the thigh, dropping the massive enforcer onto the cold concrete floor, screaming in pain.
Vincent stepped up to the wounded enforcer, kicking Roman’s weapon fifty feet across the floor. He kicked open the thin wooden door of the office.
Victor Moretti was cowering behind a desk, holding a small revolver with two trembling hands.
"Stay back!" Victor shrieked, his voice cracking with sheer terror. "Stay back, Vincent! I'll shoot!"
Vincent didn't even slow down. He walked right past the barrel of Victor's gun, grabbed Victor by the throat with his bare left hand, and lifted the sixty-year-old mobster off his feet, slamming him against the brick wall.
The revolver fell from Victor’s numb fingers, clattering uselessly against the floor.
"Please... Vincent... please!" Victor gasped, his eyes bulging as his feet dangled six inches off the ground. "It was... it was Julianna's idea! She wanted revenge!"
Vincent stared into Victor’s dying eyes, his grip tightening until the old man’s face turned purple.
"You brought my daughter into a war, Victor," Vincent whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute, cold death. "That was your last mistake."
Vincent snapped his wrist, throwing Victor onto the hard concrete floor, where the old man crumpled into an unconscious, gasping heap.
Vincent turned slowly toward the corner of the room.
Lily was sitting in the wooden chair, clutching Barnaby the rabbit to her chest, her dark eyes wide as she looked at him through the smoke.
Vincent instantly dropped to both knees. He ripped off his tactical gloves and helmet, tossing them aside, his rough face softening completely as he reached out his arms.
"Lily," Vincent said softly, his voice trembling for the first time all night. "Are you hurt, baby?"
Lily looked at his face, recognizing the dark, protective eyes of the man who owned the big house. She scrambled off the chair and threw her small arms around his neck, burying her face into his tactical vest.
"Vincent!" she sobbed quietly. "I knew you were coming! I told the bad men you were a dragon!"
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Vincent wrapped his broad arms tightly around the seven-year-old girl, pulling her close against his chest, closing his eyes as a long, breathless shudder of sheer relief passed through his body.
"I'm here, little dragon," Vincent murmured into her curls, pressing a gentle kiss to her head. "I've got you. You're safe."
