Chapter 6 - The Shadows of Pier 42The rain had turned into a torrential downpour by the time my sedan reached the abandoned industrial sector near Pier 42. The salt air smelled of rotting timber, diesel fuel, and damp rust.
I left the car idling behind a stack of shipping containers, pulling my black trench coat tight against the wind. My gun was drawn, the heavy steel warm against my palm.
Pier 42 was supposed to be decommissioned, but a single halogen work light cut through the gloom near warehouse building seven. Inside, muffled voices echoed over the sound of rain drumming against the corrugated iron roof.
I crept along the exterior wall, finding a shattered window near the loading bay.
Inside, two men stood beside a stack of wooden crates marked with Romano shipping seals. One of them was Viktor Petrov—a hulking brute with a jagged scar running from his ear down to his collarbone, wearing a heavy leather jacket. The other was a Russian lieutenant I recognized from previous dock negotiations.
“Romano is getting too close to the financial trail,” Viktor was saying in broken English, lighting a cigarette. “Marcus is cracking. We need to eliminate the accountant before he talks, and then we finish the job on the kids so there are no loose ends.”
My blood boiled so hot I could feel the heat radiating through my skin.
They wanted my daughters. The same little girls who had finally found their voices that afternoon. The same little girls who had lived in terrifying silence for fourteen months because of these animals.
I didn't wait for backup. I didn't wait for negotiation.
I smashed the remaining glass of the window, vaulted over the sill, and landed squarely on the concrete floor with my weapon raised.
“Looking for me?” I shouted over the sound of the rain.
Viktor spun around, his hand instinctively diving for the Sig Sauer tucked into his waistband, but he was half a second too slow.
Bang.
The gunshot echoed like thunder inside the cavernous warehouse. The bullet caught Viktor square in the shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him hard against the wooden crates. He cried out, dropping his weapon as blood poured rapidly from his torn flesh.
The Russian lieutenant raised his hands instantly, dropping his pistol onto the wet concrete. “Don't shoot! Don't shoot! We surrender!”
I walked slowly across the concrete, the heavy rubber soles of my shoes splashing through puddles. I stood over Viktor as he groaned in agony, clutching his shattered shoulder against the floor.
“You killed my wife,” I said, pressing the barrel of my gun firmly against his forehead.
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“Please... please, Dominic,” Viktor wheezed, his eyes wide with absolute terror. “It was just business! Marcus paid for the hit!”
“Marcus is already dealt with,” I replied coldly. “And now, so are you.”
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