Chapter 13 - Blood on the Brooklyn Docks
The Hudson River swallowed Marcus Dawson without a sound.
The churning propellers whipped the black water into white foam, and then there
was only the steady drumming of the rain.
It was over for Marcus.
The ghost that had haunted my life for four years had finally vanished into the
depths.
Lorenzo stepped off the boat onto the dock.
He walked slowly toward Leo and me.
His black velvet tuxedo was soaked, his chest bandages seeping fresh pink
through his shirt, but his eyes were filled with an unshakeable, profound peace.
He knelt beside us on the wet wooden planks.
Leo pulled away from my neck, looked at Lorenzo’s scarred face, and reached out
his small hand.
"Mr. Lorenzo," Leo whispered softly.
"Did Terry protect us again?"
Lorenzo reached into his vest pocket.
With his large, calloused fingers, he pulled out the little chipped green
plastic triceratops.
He pressed it gently into Leo’s small palm.
"Terry did his job, little soldier," Lorenzo said, his deep voice thick with
emotion.
"Now it's time for him to rest."
Leo beamed, hugging the toy against his chest, and buried his head back into my
shoulder.
Dante ran onto the dock, his rifle lowered.
"Boss. Compound is secure. Vance’s strike team has been eliminated. Dr. Rossi is
stable in the bunker."
Dante paused, his face tightening with grim urgency.
"Salvatore Vance escaped the Met."
"Our tracking drones just located him at Terminal 4 in Brooklyn."
"He has a private cargo freighter loaded with fuel and stolen armaments. He’s
prepping to leave the harbor in forty minutes."
Lorenzo stood up to his full height.
The gentleness on his face vanished, replaced once more by the terrifying Don of
New York.
"He dies tonight," Lorenzo said.
"Lorenzo, wait," I said, standing up with Leo in my arms.
"You are bleeding. You need medical attention!"
Lorenzo turned to me, stepping close enough that I could feel the radiant heat
pouring from his body.
He reached out, his thumb gently wiping away the mixture of rain and tears on my
cheek.
"A wound will heal in three weeks, Clara," he murmured.
"An enemy left alive will strike again in three years."
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine for one brief, electric
second.
"Take Leo to the safe room with Elena. Wait for me."
"Promise me you'll come back," I whispered, clutching his lapel.
"I just found you, Lorenzo. Don't you dare die on a dock."
The hard line of his lips curved into a true, breathtaking smile.
"I survived thirty seconds of death for you," he whispered against my lips.
"I will come back for you every single time."
Thirty minutes later, the rain was turning into sleet over Brooklyn.
Terminal 4 was a rusted labyrinth of shipping containers, massive cranes, and
wet concrete.
The cargo freighter The Black Osprey sat idling at the pier, thick black diesel
smoke pouring from its twin stacks.
Salvatore Vance stood on the gangway, screaming orders at his remaining twenty
loyal soldiers.
"Load the gold crates! Move, you idiots! The harbor master gives us fifteen
minutes before the Coast Guard blocks the Narrows!"
Suddenly, every floodlight on Terminal 4 went black.
The industrial humming of the cranes died instantly.
Only the sound of the wind howling through the shipping containers remained.
"What happened to the generators?!" Vance screamed, drawing his chrome .45
caliber pistol.
"Defensive perimeter! NOW!"
From the top of a red shipping container forty feet above them, a flare arched
into the night sky.
It burst into a blinding crimson glow, illuminating the rain in blood-red light.
Sitting atop the container was Lorenzo Moretti.
Behind him stood forty heavily armed operatives of the Five Families coalition.
Don Falcone’s men.
The Moretti syndicate.
The entire underworld of New York had gathered at the edge of the water.
"Vance!" Lorenzo’s voice boomed through an industrial megaphone, echoing off the
steel hulls like judgment day.
"Your family has ruled the docks for forty years!"
"Tonight, your dynasty ends!"
"KILL HIM!" Vance shrieked, firing wildly into the dark.
A wall of gunfire erupted from both sides.
Tracer rounds crisscrossed the terminal, tearing into shipping crates and
shattering concrete.
Lorenzo leaped from the container, landing on the hood of an armored forklift,
his carbine firing with lethal precision.
Two of Vance's lieutenants dropped instantly.
Dante and the coalition forces swept through the terminal like a scythe through
wheat.
Vance’s mercenaries, realizing they were completely surrounded by the combined
might of four syndicates, began throwing down their weapons and dropping to
their knees in surrender.
Salvatore Vance turned and bolted up the steel gangway of the freighter.
He reached the main deck, his shoes slipping on the wet steel.
He reached the bridge doors, desperately pulling at the handle.
It was locked from the inside.
The crew had already abandoned him.
Footsteps echoed up the metal stairs behind him.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Heavy.
Salvatore spun around, raising his chrome pistol with shaking hands.
"Stay back! I'll blow your head off, Moretti!"
Lorenzo stepped onto the deck, tossing his empty rifle aside.
He held no weapon in his hands.
He walked straight toward the barrel of Vance’s gun.
"Shoot," Lorenzo said softly.
Vance pulled the trigger.
CLICK.
The hammer fell on an empty chamber.
Vance’s eyes widened in sheer, pathetic terror.
Lorenzo closed the distance in a heartbeat.
He grabbed Vance’s gun hand, twisting the wrist until bone cracked like dry
kindling.
Vance screamed, dropping to his knees.
Lorenzo hauled Salvatore Vance up by his collar and pinned him against the steel
railing overlooking the churning black harbor.
"You tried to murder a child," Lorenzo whispered into his ear.
"You tried to destroy the only pure thing left in my life."
"Lorenzo... please..." Salvatore begged, tears mixing with the sleet on his
face.
"We were brothers once... our fathers built this city..."
"My father built an empire," Lorenzo replied coldly.
"You built a slaughterhouse."
Lorenzo drove his fist into Salvatore Vance’s jaw with the force of a hydraulic
press.
Vance’s head snapped back, his consciousness shattering.
Lorenzo lifted his limp body over the railing and let go.
Salvatore Vance plunged forty feet into the icy, churning black waters of the
East River, swallowed instantly by the harbor tide.
Lorenzo stood at the railing for a long moment, watching the dark water settle.
Then, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his inner pocket, lit one with a gold
May you like
lighter, and exhaled a long plume of smoke into the midnight storm.
The war was won.
