Chapter 7 - Blood on the Docks
The night of the Pier 44 raid was black as pitch. A freezing mist rolled off the Patapsco River, wrapping the massive shipping containers in a ghostly shroud of white fog.
I sat in the high-security monitoring room back at Grayhaven House, staring at the multi-screen tactical display alongside Viktor and a team of communications specialists. Lila was asleep in the adjacent suite, watched over by two trusted guards.
On screen 3, Damian’s team moved through the shadows of warehouse B with absolute, silent precision. No shouting, no wasted movements—just the cold, lethal efficiency of a syndicate purging its enemies.
“They’re walking into the main loading bay,” Viktor muttered, his fingers flying across the keyboard to switch camera feeds. “Maroni’s men are waiting behind the stacked pallets.”
“Damian sees them,” I pointed, tapping the glass of screen 2. “He’s signaling the flank.”
Suddenly, the audio feed erupted into a deafening cacophony of automatic gunfire.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
“Contact! Multiple shooters!” Viktor yelled into his headset mic. “Deploy the second wave to the eastern gantry!”
My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched the thermal imaging feeds. Red figures—Maroni’s men—flashed across the screen, converging on Damian’s position near the central crane. One of the red blobs fired a muzzle flash directly toward the corner where Damian was crouched behind a steel shipping container.
“Damian!” I gasped out loud, gripping the edge of the console until my knuckles turned white.
On screen, Damian didn't flinch. He rolled smoothly out from behind the container, his rifle barking twice in rapid succession. Two red figures dropped instantly. But a third figure—taller, heavier, wearing a tactical ballistic vest—stepped out from the shadows directly behind him, raising a shotgun.
“Boss, watch your six!” Viktor screamed into the radio.
Before the shotgun could discharge, a second figure dropped from the gantry above like an avenging angel. It was Viktor’s lead sniper, landing squarely on the gunman’s shoulders and driving a combat knife straight down through the tactical vest.
The gunman collapsed.
The firing in the warehouse gradually died down, replaced by the crackle of burning pallets and the groans of wounded men.
“Situation report!” Viktor barked into the radio.
A heavy, static-laced sigh came through the speaker. Then Damian’s voice, cool and steady as ever: “Area secure. Maroni is in custody. Clean up the mess and bring the transport around.”
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I slumped back into my chair, letting out a long, shuddering breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My hands were shaking.
Viktor glanced over at me with a rare, approving grin. “Relax, Elena. The boss has nine lives. Nothing short of a nuclear bomb is going to take him down now.”
