Chapter 4 - The 14th Street Trap
By midnight, a thick, greasy fog had rolled off the river, wrapping the rusted corrugated iron warehouses of 14th Street in gray gauze.
Inside Warehouse 4, the air was cold, smelling of oil, old fish, and engine exhaust.
Marco sat tied to a wooden chair near a circle of yellow light under a high hanging lamp. His phone lay on the floor beside his feet, connected to a speaker setup.
Outside, three heavy black SUVs pulled into the gravel lot, their headlights cutting through the fog like yellow blades.
The car doors slammed shut. Heavy footsteps echoed against the gravel.
Victor Harlan walked through the side door of the warehouse, flanked by six armed enforcers wearing tactical vests and carrying short-barreled automatic rifles. Harlan was a thin, predatory man in his late fifties, wearing an expensive camel-hair coat, his gray hair slicked back, his thin lips pulled into a confident, cruel smile.
"Marco," Harlan’s rasping voice echoed through the vast, empty warehouse. "You look like hell. Where are DeLuca's dock keys?"
Marco sat trembling in his chair, sweating profusely, looking at the shadows beyond the yellow circle of light.
"Harlan..." Marco whispered, his voice cracking. "It’s... it’s a setup..."
Harlan’s smile vanished instantly. His hand reached toward the inside of his coat. "What did you say?"
CLANG.
The heavy steel roll-up doors behind Harlan slammed down with thunderous force, locked automatically from the outside. The warehouse lights flickered and died, plunging the vast space into near-total darkness, save for the single yellow bulb above Marco’s head.
"Harlan," my voice echoed from the steel rafters above.
Harlan’s men raised their rifles, sweeping their flashlight beams across the dark wooden beams of the ceiling.
"DeLuca!" Harlan shouted, his voice tight with sudden, nervous aggression. "You think you can trap me in my own city?! I have twenty men outside this building!"
"Your twenty men outside are currently being disarmed by the State Police, Victor," I replied from the shadows, stepping slowly into the edge of the light.
I wore a dark overcoat, my hands tucked into my pockets. Beside me, completely silent, stood Bruno.
"You crossed my lines, Victor," I said, my voice steady, smooth, and echoing off the iron walls. "You imported children. You poisoned my underboss. And you tried to bury a seven-year-old girl alive in my neighborhood."
Harlan sneered, pulling a heavy nickel-plated pistol from his coat. "She was a collateral casualty! A restaurant owner's brat! You're going to destroy a fifty-million-dollar syndicate over a little girl, DeLuca?!"
"She wasn't just a little girl, Victor," I said softly, looking him dead in the eye. "She was one of mine."
I looked down at Bruno.
"Take them," I whispered.
Bruno didn't bark. He vanished into the darkness like a phantom.
A second later, a horrific scream tore through the warehouse as Bruno slammed into the lead gunman on the left, his jaws crushing the man’s throat before he could pull the trigger.
FLASH! FLASH! BANG!
Muzzle flashes strobed through the dark as Harlan’s men panicked, firing wildly into the shadows. My men opened fire from the upper catwalks, precision shots dropping three of Harlan’s enforcers within four seconds.
Harlan turned and ran toward the side exit, his shoes skidding across the oil-stained floor.
I stepped out of the shadows, pulling a heavy steel pipe from the workbench beside me, and brought it down hard across Harlan’s knees.
CRACK.
Harlan howled in pain, collapsing onto the cold concrete, dropping his gun, clutching his shattered kneecap.
I walked over, stepping on his hand before he could reach for his weapon, leaning down until my face was inches from his pale, sweat-soaked forehead.
"The girl is alive, Victor," I whispered into his ear. "She woke up an hour ago. And she remembered your face."
May you like
Harlan gasped, his eyes wide with absolute, blinding horror. "No... no..."
"Yes," I smiled coldly. "And now, you belong to the state."
