Chapter 13 - The Fire At Pier Thirty-Three
The courtyard erupted into a cacophony of gunfire as Mateo’s perimeter team returned fire with devastating efficiency.
From the second-story roof of the carriage house, two Moretti marksmen unleashed controlled bursts from their carbines.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the brick alleyway in rapid strobes of amber light.
A man screamed in the darkness as heavy rounds punched through the wooden garden fence.
Luca kept his body pressed tightly over mine, his heavy suede jacket acting as a shield against falling masonry and shattered glass.
His right hand drew his Sig Sauer nine-millimeter from beneath his armpit with blinding speed.
“Emma, crawl to the French doors!” Luca barked into my ear, his voice calm, decisive, and commanding.
“Get Sean and your mother into the basement panic room right now!”
“What about you?” I cried out, terror gripping my chest as bullets continued to snap overhead.
“I am ending this tonight,” Luca growled, his dark eyes blazing with lethal fury.
He rolled off me, firing three rapid shots through the shattered wooden fence toward a muzzle flash in the alley.
A heavy thud sounded on the other side of the wall, followed by the clatter of a discarded rifle against the pavement.
Bella leapt over the low stone wall with an athletic bound, disappearing into the dark alley with a terrifying, bloodcurdling roar.
From the alley came the frantic, panicked shrieks of a mercenary:
“Shoot it! Shoot the damn dog! Get it off me—!”
A sickening crunch of bone silenced the screaming man.
Mateo’s heavy boots pounded across the patio flagstones, his tactical rifle smoking at the muzzle.
“Rear alley is clear, Boss!” Mateo reported, breathing heavily.
“Two shooters down, one pinned by Bella!”
“We searched their tactical vests—they have encrypted comms linked to a command van parked at the Navy Pier marina!”
Luca stood up, pulling me to my feet and checking my arms and face for injuries with frantic, searching hands.
“Are you hit, Emma? Speak to me!”
“I’m okay, Luca! I’m not hit!” I gasped, brushing stone dust from my sweater.
Sean burst through the shattered patio doors, holding a heavy iron fireplace poker in his hands, his face pale with adrenaline.
“Emma! Mom is safe in the pantry! What happened?”
Luca turned to Sean, placing both hands on my brother’s shoulders.
“Sean, take your sister inside and lock the steel security door.”
“Mateo has four armed men stationed in the front hall.”
“Nobody gets through that threshold.”
I grabbed Luca’s sleeve, refusing to let go.
“Luca, who were they? Was it Marco?”
Mateo held up a blood-stained tactical radio recovered from the fallen shooter in the alley.
A woman’s shrill, frantic voice was screaming through the open channel:
“Team Two, report! Did you eliminate the girl? Answer me, damn you! We are running out of time at the terminal!”
Every drop of blood drained from my face.
“Vanessa,” I whispered, nausea twisting my stomach.
Luca snatched the radio from Mateo’s hand, his knuckles turning chalky white against the plastic casing.
He pressed the transmission button with his thumb.
“Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice flat, low, and terrifyingly cold.
The radio went dead silent for two seconds.
Then, a hysterical, deranged laugh crackled through the speaker.
“Luca! How delightful to hear your voice!”
“Did your little domestic pet survive the fireworks?”
“It doesn't matter, darling!”
“I’m standing inside Warehouse Four at Pier Thirty-Three right now!”
“Your precious shipping terminal is rigged with forty commercial thermite charges!”
“In twenty minutes, every ledger, every customs terminal, and every server containing my family’s records will be reduced to molten slag!”
“And if you want to save the pier that your daddy loved so much, you’ll come alone!”
The transmission clicked off into static.
Pier Thirty-Three was the heart of the Moretti maritime empire.
It was the central distribution terminal that Roberto Moretti had spent thirty years building into a legitimate logistics network.
More importantly, it held the physical backup servers containing the federal evidence that would permanently dismantle the Bellini syndicate.
If those servers burned, Salvatore and Julian could walk free on technicalities, and the war would reignite across the entire Midwest.
“She’s baiting you, Luca,” Mateo warned, racking the bolt of his rifle.
“She has whatever mercenaries Marco’s money could buy waiting inside that warehouse.”
“It’s an ambush.”
“I know it’s an ambush,” Luca replied, his jaw set like an iron anvil.
He turned his gaze toward me.
“Emma, the master deed to Pier Thirty-Three is in your name as the trust director.”
“The automated fire-suppression systems inside Warehouse Four require your biometric authorization to override a manual sabotage sequence.”
“I cannot ask you to step into danger again.”
I looked at my brother Sean, who was holding the fireplace poker, then looked down at Bruno, who was nudging my hand with his gray nose.
I remembered the cold, dark maintenance shed where Bruno had been left to starve.
I remembered Julian holding a forty-five to Sean’s temple in our Bridgeport kitchen.
I was done running.
I was done hiding behind locked doors while monsters tried to tear my life apart.
“I’m coming with you, Luca,” I said, my voice steady, clear, and utterly devoid of fear.
“Emma, no!” Sean protested, stepping forward.
“It’s too dangerous!”
“Sean, this ends tonight,” I told my brother, looking into his eyes with absolute conviction.
“If we don't destroy this cancer right now, we will be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives.”
Luca stared at me for three long seconds.
A look of profound respect and fierce, protective pride flashed across his dark eyes.
“Mateo, bring the armored transport,” Luca ordered, turning toward the driveway.
May you like
“Bring Bella and Bruno.”
“Tonight, we cleanse Pier Thirty-Three for good.”
