Chapter 10 - The Trap at Pier 44
The salt spray from the harbor hung heavy in the freezing afternoon air, mixing with the scent of rusty iron and rotting timber.
Slip 14 was a desolate stretch of cracked concrete and abandoned industrial boat sheds, forgotten by the city's modern redevelopment projects.
Sadi stood near the edge of the decaying pier, the cold wind whipping loose strands of hair across her pale face.
She was wrapped in a thick, charcoal wool trench coat that Roman had draped over her shoulders before she left the downtown tower.
Beside her stood an old, weathered wooden sign half-buried in the weeds: Hayes Marine Repairs — Established 1974.
She reached out, touching the peeling paint of her father's name, feeling a profound, aching quiet settling into her spirit.
""He would have loved seeing you like this, Sadi,"" a quiet voice spoke from behind her.
Roman walked across the cracked pier, stepping lightly over the rusty chains and discarded mooring ropes.
He carried no umbrella, indifferent to the biting drizzle that settled against the shoulders of his bespoke coat.
""He never wanted an empire, Roman,"" Sadi murmured, watching the gray waves crash against the barnacle-crusted pilings.
""He just wanted to fix engines and watch the cargo boats clear the channel.""
""They killed him for five hundred feet of concrete.""
""They killed him because they thought nobody would ever demand an accounting,"" Roman replied, stopping beside her and looking out over the water.
""Now his daughter owns the entire coastline from Slip 1 to the naval shipyards.""
""The ledger is balanced.""
Before Sadi could answer, the sharp squeal of worn brake pads echoed through the abandoned industrial corridor behind the boat sheds.
Two rusted delivery vans and Moretti's black sedan swerved violently onto the pier, blocking the only access road back to the highway.
Ten men spilled out of the vehicles, armed with iron pipes, crowbars, and short-barreled automatic shotguns.
At the front of the gang walked Trevor Vance, his ruined face wrapped in a dirty rag, holding a heavy snub-nosed revolver in his shaking right hand.
Beside him, Dominic Moretti chewed on his unlit cigar, his shotgun resting casually across his broad shoulder.
""Look at the royal couple,"" Trevor shouted, his voice cracking with deranged glee as the freezing wind whipped his wet clothes.
""Visiting the graveyard of the family business!""
""How romantic!""
Sadi did not flinch.
She did not scream.
She did not even step behind Roman's broad back.
She simply looked at Trevor with a gaze of cold, absolute exhaustion.
""You really are completely incapable of learning, aren't you, Trevor?"" she said, her voice carrying easily over the roar of the harbor waves.
""Shut your mouth, Sadi!"" Trevor roared, leveling the revolver directly at her chest.
""You thought you won!""
""You thought you could walk into my firm, steal my career, and leave me bleeding on the sidewalk while you play queen of the city?""
""You're nothing without his guards!""
""And look around you, Roman Vane!""
""Where are your charcoal-suited shadows now?""
""You came down to the slums with just your driver and your whore!""
Dominic Moretti stepped forward, raising his shotgun toward Roman's chest with a menacing sneer.
""Here's how this plays out, Mr. Vane,"" Moretti grunted.
""You sign the waterfront port authority lease over to my family, right here on the hood of this sedan.""
""You wire ten million dollars to an offshore account in Panama.""
""And maybe, if we're feeling generous, we don't throw your little wife into the harbor with a concrete block wired to her ankles.""
Roman looked at the shotgun pointed at his heart.
Then he looked at Trevor's shaking revolver.
Then, for the first time since Sadi had met him fourteen months ago, Roman Vane smiled.
It was not a warm smile.
It was the cold, terrifying baring of teeth that an ancient apex predator shows right before it crushes the windpipe of its prey.
""Did you really believe, Dominic, that I would bring my wife to an unsecured industrial sector without clearing the perimeter?"" Roman asked softly.
The silence that followed was broken by the sharp, metallic click of fifty automatic rifles chambering rounds simultaneously.
From the shattered windows of the abandoned boat sheds, from the roofs of the rusted warehouses, and from the deck of a massive commercial tugboat idling fifty yards off the pier, red laser sights flickered into existence.
Within two seconds, every single one of Moretti's ten thugs had at least three scarlet dots dancing across their chests and foreheads.
Two heavy dots rested squarely between Dominic Moretti's eyes.
Another rested directly against Trevor Vance's open, trembling mouth.
The color drained from Moretti's face so fast he looked like a corpse standing upright.
The cigar slipped from his lips, falling into the wet puddle at his feet.
""Jesus Mary and Joseph..."" one of the armed thugs behind Moretti whimpered, instantly dropping his iron pipe onto the concrete.
May you like
""Drop the iron,"" Elias's voice boomed through an industrial megaphone from the catwalk above.
""Or this pier becomes a mass grave in three seconds.""
