Chapter 7 - THE ABANDONED WAREHOUSE ON PIER 44
The salt air inside Pier 44 tasted of rusted iron and rotting wood.
Isabella blinked against the harsh glare of a single overhead halogen bulb swinging lazily from a frayed electrical cord.
Her hands were bound behind her back with heavy zip-ties, cutting into her wrists. She sat on a wooden crate in the center of an empty storage bay, the cold concrete floor chilling her through the soles of her shoes.
Standing ten feet away, leaning against a stack of wooden crates, was Arthur Sinclair.
The aging patriarch of the Sinclair family looked older than his years, his gray hair disheveled, his expensive silk tie loosened at the collar, holding a silver-plated revolver loosely in his right hand.
"I apologize for the rough treatment, Mrs. Moretti," Arthur said, his voice raspy and bitter. "My daughter always lacked finesse. If she had disposed of you months ago, we wouldn't be standing in a drafty warehouse at the edge of the harbor."
Isabella lifted her chin, her voice steady despite the terror clawing at her throat. "Your daughter forged a marriage contract and tried to steal an empire, Mr. Sinclair. You're not victims. You're criminals."
Arthur chuckled, stepping closer. "In this city, the only difference between a criminal and a senator is the size of their campaign contribution. And Adrien Moretti... your beloved husband... built his entire throne on the same bodies I did."
"Adrien is nothing like you," Isabella fired back.
"Is that why he’s currently driving through half the police barricades in Boston to get to you?" Arthur smiled coldly, checking his watch. "He thinks he can play god. But by the time he breaks through our perimeter, you and your unborn child will be miles out to sea on a freighter heading for international waters."
A heavy crash echoed from the front of the warehouse.
The sound of reinforced steel doors being blown off their hinges by a breaching charge.
Arthur’s smile faltered.
Footsteps—dozens of them—hammered against the concrete floor outside the storage bay.
"He's here," Isabella whispered, a surge of fierce hope warming her chest.
May you like
Arthur raised his revolver, pointing it directly at her forehead. "Then let's see how much your precious husband cares about his empire when he has to choose between your life and his bloodline."
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