Chapter 3 - Blood on the DocksThe pre-dawn light over the Brooklyn harbor was a sickly shade of grey. Fog hung heavy over the dark waters, shrouding the massive shipping containers of warehouse 14 in a thick, ghostly haze.
Vincent’s convoy of dark SUVs rolled to a silent halt two blocks away from the perimeter fence. Rain had begun to fall, a steady, cold drizzle that slicked the asphalt.
Inside the lead vehicle, Vincent sat in the specially modified passenger seat, double-checking the action on his submachine gun. Anna sat in the row behind him, having refused to stay behind at the estate.
"You should have stayed in the bunker," Vincent said without turning around, his tone flat.
"If something goes wrong with the banking lock, you'll need me to adjust the protocol," Anna replied firmly, clutching a secure laptop in her lap. "Besides, I don't trust your men to carry out an operation without turning it into a massacre."
Vincent let out a low chuckle, turning his head slightly to look at her through the dim interior light. "You have a high opinion of yourself, Miss Hastings. But out here, numbers and bullets matter more than spreadsheets."
"We'll see," she countered.
Marco stuck his head through the front door window. "Boss, the scouts report chaos inside. The mercenaries are walking off the job. Dominic is screaming at them, trying to hold them at gunpoint, but half his force has already deserted."
Vincent’s eyes darkened. "He's desperate now. Desperate men make mistakes, but they also kill hostages. We move in."
Using the fog as cover, Vincent’s men breached the side entrance of the warehouse. Vincent was transferred into a rugged, tactical all-terrain wheelchair equipped with reinforced treads, designed specifically for uneven terrain. Watching him move—powerful, fast, and entirely devoid of hesitation—Anna felt a surge of reluctant admiration. He was not a man bound by his physical state; he was a force of nature that adapted to it.
Anna followed closely behind Marco and two guards, keeping her head low as they slipped into the vast, cavernous warehouse. High above, rusting steel beams crisscrossed the ceiling, dripping cold water onto stacked wooden crates.
In the center of the warehouse, under a single hanging floodlight, stood Dominic. He was surrounded by four remaining die-hard loyalists. Tied to a heavy wooden chair beneath the light was Leo Moretti—Vincent’s younger brother—his face bruised and bloody, but his eyes still burning with defiance.
"Where is the money?!" Dominic shrieked into his phone, stomping his foot in rage. "You promised the transfer would clear by six!"
"The money is gone, Dominic," Vincent’s voice boomed through the high-ceilinged warehouse, echoing like thunder off the metal walls.
Dominic whipped around, drawing his gun, his men raising their rifles in panic. Out of the shadows rolled Vincent, flanked by his armed security detail.
"Moretti!" Dominic hissed, his face twisted in a mixture of fear and rage. "How did you do it? How did you freeze those accounts?"
"You underestimated me," Vincent said, stopping his chair twenty feet away. "You thought because I lost the use of my legs, I lost my mind. You thought I was weak."
"You are weak!" Dominic spat, pointing his gun directly at Vincent’s chest. "You're a cripple sitting on a throne that belongs to real men! The syndicate needs strength, not a ghost who hides in a mansion!"
Vincent’s expression didn't change, but an aura of absolute death seemed to radiate from him. "Step away from my brother, Dominic. And I might let you die quickly."
"Never!" Dominic screamed. He swung his gun toward Leo’s head. "If I'm going down, I'm taking your blood with me!"
BANG!
A shot echoed through the warehouse, but it didn't come from Dominic, nor from Vincent.
It came from high above in the rafters. A sniper posted by Vincent prior to the breach fired a single, lethal round. Dominic’s eyes went wide as the bullet struck his shoulder, spinning him around and causing him to drop his weapon.
Instantly, the warehouse erupted into a sharp, brutal firefight. Dominic’s four remaining men were overwhelmed in seconds by Marco’s team.
Anna ducked behind a stack of shipping crates as bullets ricocheted off the concrete floor. She watched in awe as Vincent wheeled himself directly into the line of fire, firing two shots from his handgun to disarm a gunman who was aiming at Marco’s back.
With the threat neutralized, Vincent reached his brother's side. He whipped out a combat knife and slashed the ropes binding Leo’s wrists.
"Can you stand?" Vincent asked quietly.
Leo spat blood onto the floor and gave a weak grin. "Yeah... thanks to you, big brother. Though you took your sweet time."
"Thank her," Vincent said, gesturing toward Anna, who was slowly stepping out from behind the crates. "She broke their bank before we broke their door."
Leo looked at Anna, his eyes wide with surprise and newfound respect. "The banker's daughter? Well, I'll be damned."
Suddenly, a shadow rose from behind a forklift nearby. It was Dominic, bleeding heavily from his shoulder, clutching a small, secondary revolver with a crazed look in his eyes.
"I'll kill you both!" Dominic screamed, aiming directly at Vincent’s exposed back.
Anna reacted purely on instinct. "Vincent!" she screamed, darting forward and grabbing a heavy steel crowbar resting on top of a nearby crate.
She didn't hesitate. With all the force in her body, she swung the crowbar, slamming it directly into Dominic’s wrist just as he pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, shattering a light fixture above, and the gun clattered to the ground.
Dominic stumbled back, roaring in pain, but before he could recover, Vincent turned his chair, grabbed Dominic by the front of his jacket, and slammed him face-first onto the hood of a nearby forklift.
Vincent pulled his pistol, pressing the warm barrel directly against the back of Dominic’s neck.
"Please..." Dominic whimpered, all his bravado evaporating into thin air. "Vincent... please... we were brothers once..."
"Brothers don't sell out the family," Vincent whispered coldly. "And they certainly don't threaten my wife."
The shot was instant.
Silence fell over the warehouse once more, heavy and absolute.
Vincent let go of the jacket, allowing Dominic’s body to slump to the floor. He slowly turned his chair toward Anna, who was standing there, panting heavily, the steel crowbar still clutched tightly in her hands, her white knuckles shaking.
Vincent rolled closer to her, stopping just inches away. He reached up, his long, warm fingers gently closing over her hand, taking the crowbar from her grasp and tossing it aside.
"You saved my life," Vincent said softly, his dark eyes searching her face with an intensity that made her heart race wildly.
"I... I just didn't want him to shoot you," Anna whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of rain falling on the tin roof.
May you like
Vincent reached up, his thumb gently wiping a smear of grease from her cheek. His touch was surprisingly tender for a man who had just taken a life without blinking.
"You are no longer just a contract, Anna," Vincent murmured, his voice thick with a strange, dark emotion. "You are mine. And no one in this city will ever touch you again."
