Chapter 4 - The Trap at Dock 14
Sunday night arrived with a bitter, biting frost that turned the waters of Lake Michigan into sludge.
Dock 14 was a massive, cavernous warehouse filled with stacked steel shipping containers, heavy machinery, and the smell of diesel oil and saltwater. The overhead mercury-vapor lights flickered intermittently, casting long, eerie shadows across the concrete floor.
At 11:45 PM, three black, unmarked delivery vans pulled silently into the dock yard, their headlights turned off.
Thirty men dressed in black tactical gear poured out of the vehicles, armed with suppressed automatic rifles. Leading them was Viktor Vance himself—a hulking man in his late fifties with a scarred face and a heavy bear-skin coat.
Beside Vance stood Arthur Sterling, wearing a cashmere overcoat, looking distinctly uncomfortable in the dirty industrial environment.
"Are you sure the Moretti guards are light tonight?" Sterling hissed, wiping his fogged wire-rimmed glasses with a silk handkerchief. "If Alessio finds out I'm here—"
"Relax, Sterling," Vance growled in a thick Eastern European accent. "Dominic’s tracker is still active. The audio feed shows Alessio is at his estate, having dinner. His dock guards are asleep or drunk. We plant the thermite charges, burn his primary logistics node, and by morning, Moretti is bankrupt."
Vance raised his hand, signaling his men to advance toward the main warehouse doors.
They pushed the heavy iron doors open and stepped inside.
The warehouse was pitch black.
"Where are the workers?" Sterling whispered nervously, looking around into the darkness. "There should be a skeleton crew..."
Suddenly, a massive blinding light flooded the entire warehouse as thirty high-intensity stadium floodlights mounted along the rafters snapped on simultaneously.
Vance and his men screamed, covering their eyes as the intense glare blinded them.
CLANG!
Behind them, the massive iron doors slammed shut, locked automatically from the outside by heavy pneumatic deadbolts.
"Welcome to Dock 14, gentlemen," a deep, resonant voice echoed through the warehouse's loudspeaker system.
From atop a red shipping container twenty feet above the floor, I stepped into the light. I wore a long charcoal coat, my hands tucked comfortably into my pockets. Standing beside me were twenty of my best men, their rifles aimed directly at the trapped mercenaries below.
Vance whipped out his weapon, aiming upward, but three red laser dots immediately appeared on his chest.
"Vance," I said calmly, looking down at the scarred thug. "And Arthur Sterling. What a pleasant surprise. I didn't know high-society philanthropists enjoyed industrial architecture at midnight."
Sterling dropped his briefcase, his knees knocking together in sheer terror. "Alessio! Wait! This is a misunderstanding! Vance forced me—he threatened my family!"
"Shut up, you sniveling coward!" Vance roared, glaring up at me. "How did you know? Dominic’s tracker—"
"Dominic’s tracker was fed a bedtime story for three days, Viktor," I interrupted. "Just like the story you told yourself about taking over Chicago."
I raised my right hand.
Below, from the dark shadows behind the stacked containers, a low, guttural growl began to rumble. It started soft, then grew into a terrifying sound that vibrated through the concrete floor.
Out of the darkness stepped Nero.
He was no longer the shivering, injured dog from the snow. Doctor Harrison had cleared his wound, the tracker was gone, and he wore a heavy tactical harness across his muscular chest. Standing right beside him was Marco, holding a heavy combat shotgun.
Vance’s mercenaries backed away in panic as Nero slowly advanced, his dark eyes fixed on Vance’s throat.
"You tried to turn my dog into a weapon against me, Viktor," I said, my voice cold as ice. "It's only fitting that he sees you off."
"Shoot him! Shoot the damn dog!" Vance screamed, raising his rifle.
Before Vance could pull the trigger, Nero moved like a black lightning bolt across the concrete floor. He cleared fifteen feet in a single bound, launching his two-hundred-pound frame directly into Vance's chest.
Vance hit the ground with a sickening thud, his rifle clattering across the floor. Nero pinned the man to the ground, his jaws snapping inches from Vance's throat, holding him entirely immobile with terrifying precision.
The thirty mercenaries, seeing their leader captured and surrounded by a sniper force, immediately dropped their weapons to the floor, raising their hands in total surrender.
Sterling collapsed to his knees, sobbing hysterically. "Alessio! Please! I have money! I'll give you my firm! Just don't kill me!"
I walked down the metal staircase, stepping onto the warehouse floor. I walked past the surrendered mercenaries, past the sobbing Sterling, and stopped right beside Vance, who lay pinned beneath Nero’s massive paws.
I looked down at Vance.
"You brought war to my home," I whispered. "You touched my dog. You bribed my brother."
"Kill me then, Moretti," Vance spat, blood leaking from his lip. "Do it yourself!"
"Kill you?" I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "No, Viktor. Death is too quick. The Federal Bureau of Investigation is currently raiding your safehouses across five states based on documents Arthur Sterling’s secretary graciously provided to my lawyers yesterday."
Sterling’s head snapped up in shock. "What?!"
"Your secretary, Miss Vance," I smiled down at Sterling. "She was very cooperative once I showed her the offshore accounts you were using to siphon her pension fund."
Two heavy steel side doors opened, and a dozen federal agents wearing blue FBI jackets poured into the warehouse, led by Special Agent Rodriguez—a man I had cultivated a very mutually beneficial working relationship with over the years.
"Alessio Moretti," Rodriguez said, walking over with his cuffs drawn. "Looks like you caught some heavy fish tonight."
"Just doing my civic duty as a concerned business owner, Agent Rodriguez," I said smoothly, stepping back and signaling Nero to release Vance.
May you like
As the FBI began cuffing Vance, Sterling, and their mercenaries, Vance looked back at me, his eyes burning with helpless rage. "You're a demon, Moretti! A demon!"
"No," I replied softly, watching them drag him away. "I'm just a man who protects his family."
