Chapter 9 - The Anatomy of Revenge
By 4:00 AM, the storm had moved over the Atlantic, leaving a thick, suffocating fog rolling over the industrial shipping docks of Brooklyn.
Pier 42 was Arthur Vance’s primary stronghold. Ten thousand square feet of shipping containers, cranes, and armed men guarded the multi-million-dollar contraband trade that fueled the West Side Syndicate.
Inside the main warehouse office, Arthur Vance was pacing furiously.
“Where is the strike team? Why hasn’t anyone called?” Arthur roared at Thomas Russo.
Before Thomas could answer, the warehouse intercom system crackled to life with a burst of static.
A woman’s calm, melodic voice resonated through the loudspeakers across the entire shipping yard.
“Attention, West Side personnel. Your strike team at the Gallo estate has been neutralized. Your outer security grid has been compromised. You have exactly three minutes to lay down your weapons and evacuate the pier before this facility is eliminated.”
Arthur rushed to the window overlooking the docks.
The security spotlights suddenly began popping one by one, extinguished by high-velocity sniper fire from the nearby cranes. Darkness swept across the pier.
“Kill the intercom!” Arthur screamed. “Get every man outside! Lock the gates!”
Down in the shipping yard, Dominic and Nora moved in perfect unison through the maze of cargo containers.
Dominic took the heavy forward assault, his twin automatic pistols shattering the resistance of Arthur’s guards with brutal efficiency. Behind him, Nora acted as the unseen executioner, planting plastic explosive charges on the structural supports of Arthur’s primary distribution warehouse while eliminating snipers from the catwalks above.
A group of six Vance enforcers rounded a corner, cutting Dominic off.
Before they could raise their weapons, Nora dropped from the roof of a shipping container like a panther, driving both heels into the chest of the point man. She rolled across the concrete, drew two tactical blades from her boots, and dismantled the remaining five men in a blur of lethal, surgical strikes that lasted less than eight seconds.
Dominic stepped over the fallen bodies, looking at his wife with dark admiration.
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“Remind me never to make you angry about the household budget,” Dominic remarked dryly.
Nora wiped a thin line of blood from her cheek with the back of her glove. “Keep up, Dominic. Arthur is on the second floor.”
