Chapter 8 - Into The Viper’s Nest
The Brooklyn Navy Yard was a graveyard of rusting shipping containers and towering cranes, cloaked in the freezing midnight fog. Alexei had chosen this spot because it was his territory, heavily guarded and impossible to sneak into. I didn't try to sneak.
I drove a black SUV straight through the front gates, smashing the wooden barricade. Gunfire erupted immediately, bullets pinging off the armor plating. I slammed the brakes, drifting the heavy vehicle sideways to use it as cover.
I kicked the door open and stepped out into the rain, my rifle raised. Bruno leaped out behind me, ignoring his limp, his teeth bared in a permanent snarl. He was my only backup.
"Hold your fire!" a voice boomed over a loudspeaker.
The shooting stopped. From the shadows of the containers, dozens of heavily armed Russian mercenaries stepped out, surrounding me. A path parted in the middle, and Alexei Volkov walked forward. He was a massive man, dressed in a tailored suit that looked absurd in the grimy shipyard, holding a silver-plated revolver.
"Vincent Rossi," Alexei smiled, spreading his arms. "You actually came. Alone. I always thought you were smart, but grief makes men stupid."
"Where is Mateo?" I demanded, keeping my rifle leveled at Alexei's chest.
"Oh, my men are probably breaking his fingers right now," Alexei laughed. "I lied. I have no honor when it comes to dead men."
I smiled. A cold, terrifying smile. "I know. That's why Tony killed your hit squad in Queens ten minutes ago. Mateo is safe."
Alexei's smile vanished. He pulled out a radio. "Viktor, report." Static. "Viktor!" More static.
"They're dead, Alexei," I said. "Just like Marco. Just like Sergei. And just like you."
"Kill him!" Alexei roared, raising his revolver.
But I had already pressed a button on the remote detonator hidden in my left hand.
The SUV I had driven in wasn't just armor-plated. The trunk was packed with C4 explosives. The blast was monumental. The shockwave threw me and Bruno behind a steel barrier, while a fireball engulfed the front line of Alexei's men. The explosion triggered a chain reaction, igniting several fuel barrels stored nearby.
Chaos erupted. The darkness of the docks was replaced by the hellish glow of fire.
I popped up from cover, firing controlled bursts into the disoriented mercenaries. "Fetch, Bruno!" I yelled.
Bruno didn't need to be told twice. He became a ghost in the smoke, taking down gunmen from the shadows, tearing into arms and legs, creating absolute panic. The Russians were shooting blindly at the dog, hitting their own men in the process.
I moved methodically, a ghost in my own right, advancing through the maze of shipping containers. I was no longer a mafia boss negotiating treaties. I was a force of nature, driven by the memory of a seven-year-old girl in a white coffin.
I cornered Alexei near the edge of the pier. He was bleeding from shrapnel wounds, his expensive suit ruined. He fired his revolver at me wildly, missing. I shot him in the kneecaps, dropping him to the wet concrete—the exact same punishment I had given Marco.
Alexei screamed, clutching his shattered legs.
I walked up to him, kicking his gun into the dark water. Bruno flanked him, growling viciously.
"This is for Elena," I whispered, pressing the barrel of my rifle against his head.
"Wait!" Alexei spat blood. "You kill me, the Commission will hunt you down! You broke the peace!"
May you like
"There is no peace," I said. "Not for men who kill children."
I pulled the trigger. The Russian syndicate in New York died with him.
