Chapter 4 - The War at Pier 42
The rain at Pier 42 was heavy, blowing sideways off the churning, dark surface of Lake Michigan. High industrial cranes towered over the concrete docks like rust-covered giants, their yellow halogen floodlights casting long, greasy reflections across the wet asphalt.
Four black SUVs were parked in a tight semicircle inside an empty cargo hangar, their engines idling softly, white exhaust fumes mingling with the cold night fog.
In the center of the circle stood Marco Moretti—a cruel, arrogant young man of thirty, clad in a expensive leather trench coat, impatiently flipping a silver zippo lighter open and shut.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
"Where the hell is Victor?" Marco spat, looking at his gold Rolex watch. "It's four-fifteen. If he flaked on us, I'll skin him alive."
"He's not coming, Marco," a voice called out from the dark mouth of the hangar.
Marco froze, his thumb stopping on the zippo's flint.
From the shadow of a massive steel shipping container, I stepped out into the harsh halogen glare, clad in a long black wool coat, my hands resting calmly in my pockets. Behind me, emerging from the rain like silent phantoms, came Lorenzo and ten of my heavily armed security team, their submachine guns raised, their laser sights painting bright red dots across Marco's chest and his men's foreheads.
Marco's five guards instantly panicked, reaching for their holstered weapons, but the sheer tactical superiority of my men froze them in place.
"Rossi?" Marco gasped, his face draining of color as he recognized me. "What... what are you doing here? This was a private deal with Victor!"
"Victor met with an unfortunate accident in my house tonight," I said, walking slowly toward him, my leather boots making sharp, heavy splashes in the puddles. "He violated my territory. He targeted my staff. And he thought he could sell my property to your pathetic father."
I reached inside my coat, pulled out the black leather ledger, and held it up between us in the cold rain.
Marco's eyes widened with pure greed. "The Vance ledger... You have it!"
"I do," I murmured. "And do you know what it contains, Marco? It contains the names of every corrupt official your father paid off over the last decade. It contains the bank accounts your family uses to bribe the dockworkers union. It contains enough fire to burn the Moretti empire to ashes by sunrise."
"Give it to me, Matteo!" Marco pleaded, his arrogant composure completely shattering into desperate terror. "Name your price! Ten million? Twenty million? My father will give you half of our lakefront operations! Just hand over the ledger!"
I looked at Marco's pathetic, trembling face. Then I looked at the dark water of the lake churning beyond the hangar doors.
"My price," I said softly, "is peace."
I stepped over to the edge of the concrete pier, right above the churning, sixty-foot-deep waters of Lake Michigan.
Marco watched me, horrified. "What are you doing?!"
"Your father murdered Julian Vance for this book," I said, holding the ledger out over the open water. "He hunted his wife and child for three years over these pages. He turned my own security man against me for this paper."
"Don't do it, Rossi! That book is worth billions!" Marco screamed, taking a desperate step forward, only to have Lorenzo press the barrel of an assault rifle directly against his forehead.
"It's not worth a child's tear," I said flatly.
I opened my fingers.
The black leather ledger fell through the dark rain, tumbling through the air before splashing quietly into the black, icy depths of Lake Michigan, disappearing forever beneath the waves.
Marco let out a strangled, heartbroken shriek, collapsing onto his knees on the wet concrete as if he had just watched his own soul drown.
I walked over to where he knelt, pulling my Sig Sauer from my shoulder coat and placing the cold steel muzzle against his ear.
"Go back to your father, Marco," I whispered, my voice carrying the absolute finality of a death sentence. "Tell him the Vance ledger is at the bottom of the lake. Tell him that if I ever see a Moretti soldier within five miles of my estate, my family, or the girl living under my roof... I will personally wipe the Moretti name from the history of this city. Do you understand me?"
Marco nodded frantically, shivering in the mud, his tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks. "Yes... yes, Matteo... I swear... I'll tell him..."
"Get out of my sight," I growled, stepping back.
Marco and his men scrambled into their SUVs like whipped dogs, their tires screeching violently against the concrete as they sped away into the stormy darkness, leaving behind only the quiet sound of falling rain.
May you like
Lorenzo walked up beside me, watching the tail lights disappear. "It's over, Matteo. Moretti won't dare touch us now."
"It's over for them," I said, turning back toward my vehicle. "Now we go home and make sure the child is safe."
