Chapter 4 - The Fall of Baltic Avenue
"Get down!" Luca roared, throwing his body over Claire as the room exploded into chaos.
Screams echoed through the Velvet Room as Petrov’s hitmen opened fire from the street. Marco and Luca’s security detail immediately returned fire, their weapons deafening in the enclosed space.
Grant didn't look back; he ducked through the kitchen exit, using the distraction to flee. Detective Draper was caught in the crossfire, taking a bullet to the shoulder before collapsing behind the bar.
Luca pulled Claire behind a thick marble pillar. "Are you hit?" he demanded, his hands gripping her shoulders, his eyes scanning her for injuries.
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" she gasped, clutching her stomach. "Where is Grant?"
"He’s running to his handlers," Luca said, his expression hardening into something truly terrifying. "Marco! Secure the perimeter and get Claire to the safehouse. I'm ending this tonight."
"Luca, no!" Claire cried out, grabbing his arm. "It’s a trap! Petrov wants you out in the open!"
Luca leaned down and pressed a swift, intense kiss to her forehead. "They brought this fight to my house, Claire. They threatened you. They threatened our child. There is no corner of this earth where they will be safe from me now."
Leaving her with Marco, Luca drew a black semi-automatic pistol from his jacket and stepped into the smoke-filled street.
The hunt led directly back to where it all began: Baltic Avenue.
Petrov’s men had set up a defensive perimeter around the abandoned warehouse district near the old docks. By the time Luca arrived with his full syndicate force, the rain had turned into a torrential downpour. The sound of thunder masked the opening volleys of gunfire.
Luca moved like a wraith through the shipping containers. He was no longer the calculated businessman; he was the apex predator of Atlantic City. One by one, Petrov’s mercenaries fell to his precise, unforgiving marksmanship.
Inside the central warehouse, Viktor Petrov stood near a getaway boat tied to the indoor canal. Grant Mercer stood beside him, shaking violently.
"You promised me protection!" Grant screamed over the sound of gunfire outside. "You said Moretti would be arrested!"
"You lied to me, Mercer," Petrov said coldly, his Russian accent thick. "You said the girl was helpless. You didn't tell me she had recorded everything. You are a liability."
Petrov drew his weapon, but before he could pull the trigger, the warehouse doors were blown off their tracks by a breaching charge.
Luca Moretti stepped through the smoke, his black suit soaked with rain and stained with blood. His gun was raised, fixed directly on Petrov’s forehead.
"Drop it, Viktor," Luca said, his voice calmer than the storm outside. "Your men outside are dead or fleeing. Your shipping lines are seized. You lost."
Petrov looked at the doorway, then at his boat. He knew the rules of the city. He slowly lowered his weapon and raised his hands. "This was business, Moretti. The gambler sold us a story."
"Then you can pay for the story," Luca said. He shifted his gaze to Grant, who was cowering behind a stack of wooden crates.
Grant looked up, his face twisted in terror. "Luca... please. It was Petrov. He forced me. I’ll leave the city. I’ll never look at her again—"
"You’re right," Luca interrupted, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You won't."
Luca didn't shoot him. Instead, he stepped aside as the flashing lights of the State Police flooded the warehouse. Behind them stood federal agents.
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"I don't need to kill you, Grant," Luca said, a cold smile touching his lips. "I handed the FBI the complete ledger of your human trafficking ring and your offshore accounts thirty minutes ago. You aren't going to a regular prison. You’re going somewhere where the Moretti family names don't matter, but Petrov’s remaining debts certainly do."
As the federal agents rushed in to arrest Grant and Petrov, Luca turned and walked out into the rain, not looking back even once as Grant screamed his name in despair.
