Chapter 8 - Midnight at the DocksThe Chicago docks smelled of dead fish, diesel fuel, and rotting wood.
Fog rolled off Lake Michigan like thick cotton wool.
The storm had settled into a steady, freezing drizzle.
We left my apartment at 3:30 a.m.
Luca refused to leave me behind.
“If they trace your IP back to that laptop,” Luca told me in the stairwell, “you’re dead before sunrise.”
Now, I crouched behind a rusted shipping container.
I wore a dark oversized jacket Marco had thrown at me.
Rain dripped from the brim of my baseball cap.
Fifty yards ahead sat Don Bellini’s luxury yacht.
The Bella Donna.
A hundred and forty feet of gleaming white fiberglass.
Armed guards patrolled the teak deck.
They carried submachine guns beneath heavy slickers.
Through the illuminated salon windows, figures moved.
Vanessa Bellini was there.
She was pacing the salon floor with a champagne flute in her hand.
Beside her sat a man in a high-collared black coat.
His face was turned away from the window.
A thick scar wrapped around his neck.
Matteo.
Luca knelt beside me in the mud.
He held a suppressed sniper rifle.
His breathing was slow.
Controlled.
“Twelve guards on the dock,” Luca whispered to Marco.
“Four on the boat.”
“We’re outgunned, boss,” Marco whispered back.
“We have five men total.”
“We have Emma,” Luca replied.
I blinked in the dark.
“Me?”
Luca looked at me.
“The marina’s industrial power grid runs through the harbormaster’s shed.”
He pointed to a small wooden shack forty yards to our left.
“The backup generator for the docks uses the same brand as my hotel.”
“Kohler 500kW,” I said automatically.
“Can you trip the master breaker?” Luca asked.
“If I cut the transfer switch,” I said, “the entire pier goes black for ninety seconds.”
“That’s all I need,” Luca said.
He reached into his pocket and handed me a small, heavy black pistol.
A Glock 19.
The metal was cold against my palm.
“Have you ever fired one?” Luca asked.
“At tin cans in Massachusetts,” I answered honestly.
“Keep both hands on the grip,” Luca said.
His large hand closed briefly over mine.
His skin was warm despite the freezing rain.
“Don't hesitate. If anyone wearing a Bellini badge steps into that shed, squeeze the trigger.”
I swallowed hard.
“Okay.”
“On my signal,” Luca whispered.
He tapped my shoulder twice.
I slipped out from behind the container.
I stayed low, creeping through the shadows like a stray cat.
My sneakers squelched softly in the mud.
The smell of diesel grew stronger.
I reached the harbormaster’s shed without being spotted.
The rusted padlock on the side door was already broken.
I slipped inside.
The smell of engine oil and dust was suffocating.
I pulled out my phone.
Using the faint screen light, I located the heavy industrial breaker box.
The master transfer switch was painted bright red.
I put both hands on the lever.
Outside, the whistle of a harbor bird echoed.
Luca’s signal.
I threw my weight down onto the red switch.
CLACK.
Instantly, every floodlight on Pier 9 died.
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The marina vanished into total, suffocating darkness.
Gunfire exploded across the dock three seconds later.
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