Chapter 2 - The Blood on Pier Fourteen
The Cadillac cut through the flooded avenues toward the Manhattan Bridge with controlled velocity.
Lorenzo’s driver, a scarred veteran named Marco, kept his eyes glued to the rearview mirrors.
I wiped the rain from my eyelashes with the sleeve of my blouse, shivering violently against the leather upholstery.
Lorenzo reached into the rear console and tossed a heavy wool blanket across my shoulders.
"You look like a ghost that crawled out of the East River," Lorenzo said without looking at me.
"Why were your men watching Dominic’s residence?" I demanded, my voice cracking with exhaustion.
"I wasn't watching Dominic's residence."
"Then why were you parked outside my door at midnight?"
"My men were tracking Salvatore Moretti's lieutenant."
"Geno?"
"Yes, Geno."
Lorenzo leaned back against his seat and lit a thin cigarette, cracking his window a sliver to vent the gray smoke.
"Salvatore made three calls to an offshore arms merchant yesterday afternoon."
"He ordered tactical weapons that the Moretti family never utilizes."
"I knew something was rotten three days ago, Madeline."
"Then why didn't you warn Dominic yourself?"
Lorenzo let out a short, humorless bark of laughter that died against the glass.
"If I call Dominic Moretti, he assumes it is a threat."
"If I tell him his uncle is trying to kill him, he puts a bullet in my messenger’s forehead."
"He is blinded by loyalty to the man who raised him."
"Dominic isn't foolish," I whispered, defending my husband even as my skin still burned from his rejection.
"Dominic is stubborn to the point of suicide," Lorenzo countered sharply.
"When you called my private line tonight, you confirmed what my scouts already suspected."
"Salvatore moved sixty crates of high-grade contraband to Pier Fourteen without logging them in the family manifest."
"Dominic went down there twenty minutes ago to verify the discrepancy."
My breath seized inside my throat.
"Dominic went to the pier personally?"
"Matteo drove him."
"They took two pursuit vehicles and eight men."
"That isn't enough," I gasped, lunging forward against the seatbelt.
"Salvatore stationed fifteen shooters inside the abandoned cold storage unit overlooking the slipway."
"I heard Salvatore telling Geno to leave no witnesses alive in the lead vehicle."
Lorenzo glanced at the dashboard clock, which read 12:04 a.m.
"We cannot make it to Pier Fourteen before the shooting starts."
"We have to try, Lorenzo."
"If Dominic dies tonight, Salvatore assumes total command of the Five Families council by morning."
"Salvatore will blame your organization for the hit."
"He will launch a full-scale purge across Brooklyn before noon."
"You will be fighting a war on two fronts with no allies left in Manhattan."
Lorenzo looked at me through the haze of blue smoke, his jaw set in a hard, calculating line.
He was a man who weighed every heartbeat in dollars and blood.
He had no personal affection for Dominic Moretti.
Yet he understood the brutal arithmetic of our world better than anyone.
A stable Moretti family led by a predictable rival was far better than a bloodthirsty tyrant like Salvatore.
"Marco," Lorenzo commanded quietly.
"Boss?"
"Take the lower level of the bridge."
"Cut through the industrial bypass near the water treatment plant."
"If we see Salvatore's outer perimeter, do not engage until I give the order."
The Escalade surged forward, its tires throwing rooster tails of gray water against the highway barriers.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the window, staring into the dark silhouette of the Brooklyn skyline.
Three years ago, Dominic had slid a platinum band onto my finger in front of three hundred hardened criminals.
He had sworn on his father’s grave that no harm would reach me as long as his lungs drew air.
Tonight, he had locked me out in a freezing storm because his pride was larger than his reason.
Yet I could not let him die in an ambush he could not see coming.
The car plunged down the exit ramp into the darkened warehouse district of the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
Streetlamps here were few and far between, their bulbs shattered by local vagrants and stray rounds.
The smell of rotting salt brine and diesel exhaust seeped through the vehicle’s air vents.
Suddenly, a low, concussive boom shook the frame of the Cadillac.
The vibration rattled the teeth in my skull.
A bright orange fireball blossomed into the low rain clouds above the water line half a mile ahead.
"Jesus Christ," Marco hissed, slamming his foot down on the accelerator.
"That was Pier Fourteen," Lorenzo muttered, reaching beneath his armpit to draw a matte-black automatic.
The fire illuminated the industrial cranes like the skeletal ribs of prehistoric beasts.
A second explosion followed, smaller than the first, accompanied by the unmistakable rattle of automatic rifle fire.
"Dominic," I screamed, clawing at the door handle.
"Stay down, Madeline," Lorenzo barked, grabbing my shoulder with iron fingers.
"If you get out of this vehicle right now, you are just another corpse in the gravel."
The SUV rounded the corner of the brick storage sheds and skidded to a halt behind a mountain of rusted shipping containers.
Fifty yards ahead, Dominic’s lead armored truck was engulfed in roaring orange flames.
The heavy vehicle was flipped on its side, black smoke billowing into the November storm.
May you like
Gunfire cracked through the wet night air like dry timber snapping under impossible weight.
My husband was somewhere inside that slaughterhouse.
