Chapter 10 - Ambush at the Port
The rain fell in sheets over Lake Michigan, churning the dark waters around Pier 42 into a frothing tempest. Cargo containers were stacked three stories high, casting long, menacing shadows across the slick concrete wharf.
Dominic’s convoy of four black tactical trucks rolled silently into the dockyards with their lights off. Twelve heavily armed Moretti loyalists fanned out into tactical formations, their weapons equipped with suppressors.
Dominic moved at the point, his rifle raised. Through the driving rain, he spotted Vincent’s men gathered near a massive rusted freighter moored at the primary berth. Forklifts were moving crates of military-grade ordnance toward waiting flatbeds.
In the center of the docks stood Vincent, his white coat soaked and splattered with mud. He was screaming into a satellite phone, his face contorted in uncontrollable fury.
"What do you mean the funds are gone?!" Vincent shrieked, his voice carrying over the thunder. "Override the lock! I don't care if it takes every hacker in Europe—find that money!"
He slammed the phone onto the ground, shattering it beneath his heel. "Where are the contractors?!" he screamed at his lieutenant.
"They're refusing to deploy, Vincent," the lieutenant stammered in terror. "Their retainers bounced ten minutes ago. The Russian syndicate just withdrew their support. They said... they said Dominic has the crown."
"I am the Don!" Vincent roared, drawing his silver revolver and executing his own lieutenant on the spot.
Before the body hit the ground, Dominic stepped out of the shadow between two steel containers, bathed in the beam of a high-powered floodlight.
"You never had the crown, Vincent," Dominic’s voice boomed through the rain, cold as death itself. "You were only keeping the seat warm."
Vincent whirled around, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "Dominic!"
Around Dominic, ten Moretti riflemen emerged from the darkness, their red targeting lasers painting Vincent and his remaining loyalists.
"Drop your weapons and walk away," Dominic commanded Vincent’s surviving men. "Your boss is broke. There’s no paycheck waiting for you tomorrow. Die for a beggar, or leave this pier alive."
The mercenary guards exchanged glances. Within seconds, assault rifles clattered against the wet asphalt as six men threw their hands up and backed away into the shadows, abandoning Vincent completely.
Vincent stood alone, surrounded by the crates of weapons he couldn't afford to distribute, his silver gun trembling in his fist.
"You think you won, Dominic?" Vincent began to laugh—a high, fractured cackle that rose above the sound of the storm. "You think draining my accounts makes you clever?"
Dominic raised his weapon, his finger tightening on the trigger. "On your knees, Vincent."
Vincent smiled, a sickening, triumphant grin spreading across his face. "Check your phone, Dominic. You left your little queen and her cub in your impenetrable fortress... but did you check who designed the ventilation blueprints for The Haven?"
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Dominic’s heart seized with ice.
***