Chapter 6 - Shadows at the Docks
The gala had been a battlefield of polite smiles and venomous glances, but by one o’clock in the morning, the war moved back to the industrial chill of Boston Harbor.
Claire had slipped away from the after-party early, trading her emerald gown for dark jeans, steel-toed leather boots, and a black wool trench coat. Samuel Drake had sent an urgent encrypted alert: an unauthorized vessel bearing the insignia of Black Harbor Maritime was preparing to dock at Bennett Pier 4 under the cover of a dense fog.
Claire arrived at the private security gatehouse just as the fog horn groaned across the black water.
"Ms. Bennett, you shouldn't be here," the terminal manager said, rushing out into the freezing mist. "We have an unregistered freighter coming in without port authority clearance. The tugboats claim they were ordered by Moretti dispatch."
"Gabriel wouldn't authorize a vessel at my pier," Claire said, pulling up the live surveillance feed on her phone. "Not unless..."
Her breath caught.
On the screen, three black SUVs pulled up to the far crane station. Men in tactical jackets began moving toward the shipping containers. But they weren't Moretti men.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the container yard, followed by the sharp, terrifying crack of automatic gunfire.
"Get down!" Drake’s voice barked from the shadows as he appeared beside Claire, tackling her behind the reinforced steel corner of the gatehouse.
Bullets ripped through the glass windows above them, showering the asphalt with sparkling debris.
"Who are they?" Claire demanded, her heart hammering against her ribs, her voice fierce despite the adrenaline surging through her veins.
"Salvatore Moretti’s strike team," Drake shouted over the gunfire. "They’re using the chaos of your breakup to smuggle forty million dollars in illicit weapons through your terminal! If federal agents raid this pier tomorrow, Bennett Atlantic takes the fall for high treason and weapons trafficking!"
Before Claire could respond, the screech of burning tires echoed through the foggy terminal.
A massive, armored black Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon smashed through the security barricade at sixty miles an hour, barreling directly into the line of fire. The doors flew open, and Gabriel Moretti stepped out into the hail of lead, a heavy semi-automatic pistol in each hand.
His tuxedo jacket was gone; his white shirt was splattered with oil and rain, clinging to his massive chest. He moved with terrifying, lethal grace, returning fire with pinpoint accuracy, dropping three armed assailants in seconds while his security team fanned out behind him.
"Claire!" Gabriel roared across the dock, his voice tearing through the gunfire and the roar of the ocean. "Claire, where are you?!"
Claire scrambled up from behind the barrier. "Gabriel, stop! The containers are rigged!"
Gabriel saw her. For a split second, the absolute terror in his face was naked and undisguised—the terror of a man who realized that the only thing on earth he cared about was standing in the path of destruction.
He broke into a dead sprint toward her, bullets chewing the concrete at his heels. Just as a second volley of gunfire erupted from the crane platform, Gabriel threw his massive frame over Claire, slamming her down onto the safety of the gravel embankment and shielding her body completely with his own.
A sharp grunt tore from his throat.
Claire felt the violent shudder that ran through his back. Warm, thick blood immediately soaked through his white shirt, seeping against her hands where she held his chest.
"Gabriel!" she gasped, her eyes widening in horror as she looked up into his face.
Gabriel breathed heavily, his eyes locked onto hers, a faint, bloody smile touching his lips despite the agony twisting his features.
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"Told you..." he rasped, coughing as blood flecked his lips, "you’re not... getting rid of me... that easily."
***
