Chapter 4 - Unraveling the WebPier 9 was a fortress of rusted steel and concrete. The old grain silo stood seventy feet high, commanding a clear line of sight over the entire dockyard. Spotlights cut through the heavy fog, sweeping back and forth across the wet asphalt.
Through my night-vision binoculars, I counted at least fifteen heavily armed men patrolling the perimeter. They weren't low-level mob enforcers; they moved with military precision, overlapping their fields of fire and communicating via encrypted headsets.
"Donati didn't assemble this team," Enzo whispered beside me from our vantage point inside an abandoned crane cabin. "These are foreign contractors. Private military."
"Which means someone with unlimited capital is funding this," I replied. "Look at the top floor of the silo. The light is on."
In the top window of the silo, I could see the silhouette of a woman tied to a steel chair. Standing over her was a man in a tailored suit—not Donati, but someone far more dangerous. It was Julian Vance, a corrupt logistics tycoon who controlled the city's deep-water port authority.
Vance was the missing link. He didn't want control of the drug trade or protection rackets; he wanted total control of the shipping channels to move illegal cargo across international waters without federal oversight. And Evelyn O'Shea, as chief archivist, held the old territorial deeds that could prove Vance’s port expansion was completely illegal under state law.
"They don't just want her silence," I realized aloud. "They need her to sign the land release documents before they kill her. That's why she's still alive."
"Boss, if we launch a frontal assault, they'll execute her the moment they hear gunshots," Enzo warned.
"Then we don't give them a front," I said. "Enzo, take three men and set breaching charges on the south fuel tanks. Create a distraction they can't ignore. When those tanks blow, every mercenary on the ground will move to secure the perimeter."
"And you?"
"I'm climbing the external service ladder on the north face," I said, checking my grapple launcher and drawing my combat knife. "I'm going in through the roof."
"That ladder hasn't been used in thirty years, Matteo," Enzo said, his voice laced with concern. "If the rust gives way..."
"Then Elena gets to keep the puppy," I replied, a grim smile touching my lips. "Move out."
Five minutes later, I was hanging forty feet above the churning, frigid waters of the bay, my fingers digging into the slick, rusted rungs of the iron ladder. The wind whipped at my coat, threatening to tear me from the silo wall with every gust.
Below me, the dockyard suddenly erupted in a blinding flash of yellow flame.
BOOM!
The shockwave from Enzo's charges shattered the silence of the night, shaking the massive concrete structure. Sirens began to wail across the complex. Below, I saw the tactical team scatter, rushing toward the burning fuel tanks just as I had anticipated.
I pulled myself over the ledge of the roof, kicked open the ventilation hatch, and dropped into the dark upper staging area of the silo.
I drew my suppressed weapon and moved down the metallic catwalk like a phantom. Two guards were posted at the top of the stairwell, frantically screaming into their radios. I put two rounds into the first man's chest before he could turn, stepped inside his guard, and drove my blade into the second man's shoulder, throwing him over the railing into the pitch-black abyss below.
I reached the reinforced steel door leading to the main office room. Through the reinforced glass window, I saw Evelyn O'Shea.
Her face was bruised, her blouse torn at the collar, but her chin was held high. Standing in front of her, holding a pen in one hand and a silenced pistol in the other, was Julian Vance.
"Sign the transfer deeds, Mrs. O'Shea," Vance said, his voice echoing faintly through the heavy door. "Or I will instruct my men to go back to your apartment and finish what we started with your daughter."
Evelyn spat blood onto his polished shoes. "My daughter is safe. Someone who actually has honor is protecting her."
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Vance laughed—a cold, hollow sound. "You mean Matteo Moretti? The murderer? The mob boss? You put your faith in a beast, Evelyn. And beasts always bleed out in the dark."
"He might be a beast," I said, kicking the heavy steel door off its hinges with a thunderous crash, "but I'm her beast tonight."
