Chapter 12 - THE SHOWDOWN AT THE WAREHOUSE
Thursday night, midnight.
Pier 44 at the industrial waterfront.
The rain was pouring in sheets, turning the concrete docks into a slick, black wasteland illuminated only by the flashing red and blue lights of federal police cruisers and Moretti tactical units.
Julian Vance stood in the center of the abandoned shipping warehouse, surrounded by a dozen New York enforcers holding automatic rifles.
The heavy steel doors blew inward with a deafening crash.
Victor Moretti stepped through the smoke, flanked by Gabriel and twenty heavily armed men.
He wasn't wearing an overcoat. He wore a simple black suit, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, holding a tactical shotgun in his right hand.
"You're late, Victor," Julian sneered, raising his pistol. "I thought you'd be too busy hiding your girlfriend to show up for your own funeral."
"I was busy filing the paperwork for your extradition to a federal penitentiary in Colorado, Julian," Victor replied, his voice cutting through the damp air like a razor blade.
"Kill him!" Julian screamed.
Before the New York enforcers could pull their triggers, the skylights above the warehouse shattered.
Federal marshals and Moretti tactical teams dropped rappel lines from the rafters, flooding the building from above in a coordinated, blinding assault.
Flashes of light, the sharp cracks of stun grenades, and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the concrete filled the cavernous space.
Julian Vance lunged toward the side exit, but Victor intercepted him with terrifying speed.
Victor dropped his shotgun, grabbed Julian by the lapels of his expensive camel-hair coat, and slammed him against the brick wall with enough force to crack the mortar.
"You threatened the wrong person, Julian," Victor whispered, his face inches from the syndicate boss’s terrified eyes.
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Sirens wailed closer as federal agents swarmed around them, slapping steel handcuffs onto Julian’s wrists and dragging him toward the exit into the pouring rain.
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