Chapter 9 - BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER
The rain over Brooklyn was relentless.
The Red Hook shipping terminal was a graveyard of rusted metal, towering cranes, and stacked shipping containers.
At 11:30 PM, the waterfront smelled of salt water, rotting wood, and diesel fumes.
Fog rolled off the harbor, thick as cotton.
Dominic, Leo, and I stood inside the shadows of an empty container forty yards from the main berth.
Tied to the pier was the Santa Maria, a battered panamanian cargo ship humming with auxiliary engine power.
On the dock, two luxury black town cars sat idling in the rain.
Vincent stood near the gangway, his arm in a sling, barking orders at four heavily armed dockworkers loading wooden crates aboard.
“The crates contain the stolen art collection,” I whispered, peering through the container door.
“Eighty million dollars in uncataloged masterpieces.”
“He’s using the cargo ship to launder them through South America,” Dominic said.
His left arm was bound tightly to his torso with heavy black duct tape to stabilize the fracture.
He held his pistol in his right hand.
“Leo,” Dominic murmured.
“Take the crane operator’s cabin. Kill the spotter lights if things go sideways.”
“Got it, boss,” Leo whispered, slipping into the fog like a ghost.
Dominic looked at me.
“Stay inside this container, Mia.”
“Don’t tell me to stay behind,” I said, glaring at him.
“I’m not asking you to hide,” Dominic said softly.
He reached into his coat and handed me a small, suppressed .38 revolver.
“If anyone opens these doors who isn't me or Leo, pull the trigger until it stops clicking.”
He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead.
The kiss was fierce, brief, and electric.
“Wait for my signal.”
Dominic stepped out into the pouring rain.
He walked with an easy, deliberate stride across the wet tarmac.
His boots splashed rhythmically in the puddles.
One of Vincent’s guards spotted him.
“Hold it!” the guard yelled, reaching for his holster.
Dominic fired two shots without breaking stride.
The guard collapsed into the harbor with a dull splash.
The remaining men scrambled for cover behind the shipping crates.
Vincent spun around, his face draining of color.
“Dominic!” Vincent screamed.
“Send the men away, Vincent,” Dominic called out.
His voice cut through the sound of the churning water.
“This is between us.”
Vincent looked at his remaining three guards, then at his brother.
A manic, desperate grin spread across Vincent’s face.
“You’re alone, brother!” Vincent laughed. “You’re broken! Look at your arm!”
“I only need one hand to put you down,” Dominic said, stopping ten paces away.
Vincent drew his silver revolver with his good hand.
“You were always our father’s favorite!” Vincent shouted.
“The honorable Dominic! The clean businessman!”
“Our father was a thief, Vincent,” Dominic said evenly.
“He stole Charles Harrison’s life, and he spent twenty years trying to atone for it.”
“He was weak!” Vincent screamed, spit flying from his lips.
“And you’re just as weak as he was!”
“You let that art girl walk into your life and turn you soft!”
Behind the crates, I saw one of the mercenaries moving along the crane tracks, raising a rifle toward Dominic’s back.
My heart leaped into my throat.
I didn't think.
I didn't hesitate.
I kicked open the container door and raised the .38 revolver with both hands.
I aimed at the rifleman’s chest.
Point and pull.
The gun kicked against my palms with a muffled phut.
The bullet took the mercenary in the shoulder, spinning him around.
His rifle clattered against the iron crane track.
Dominic didn't even look back.
He used the distraction to close the distance.
Dominic lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into Vincent’s chest.
Both brothers crashed onto the wet wooden planks of the pier.
Vincent’s gun flew from his hand, sliding into the dark water below.
They rolled in the puddles, trading brutal, bone-cracking blows.
Vincent clawed at Dominic’s broken arm, his thumb digging into the fractured bone.
Dominic groaned in agony, his face turning gray.
Vincent scrambled to his feet, grabbing a heavy rusted mooring hook from the dock floor.
He raised the iron hook over Dominic’s head.
“Die, you arrogant bastard!” Vincent roared.
A loud rifle shot cracked from high above.
The iron hook shattered in Vincent’s grip.
Leo had reached the crane.
Vincent stumbled backward, clutching his bloody fingers.
Dominic pushed himself up from the ground, his eyes burning with lethal fury.
He didn't reach for his gun.
He stepped forward and drove his right fist into Vincent’s jaw with the force of a sledgehammer.
Vincent’s head snapped back.
His teeth shattered.
He collapsed onto the edge of the pier, his upper body hanging over the churning black water of the East River.
Dominic stood over his brother, chest heaving, rain washing the blood from his knuckles.
“It’s over, Vincent,” Dominic panted.
Vincent lay there, coughing up blood, laughing weakly into the storm.
“It’s never over, Dominic,” Vincent wheezed.
He opened his left hand.
May you like
Inside was a small black detonator with a flashing red light.
“If I don’t leave this dock,” Vincent whispered, “none of us do.”
