Chapter 8 - The Trap at the Pier
The world turned red.
Dominic’s face transformed into an expression of pure, unadulterated slaughter. The billionaire vanished; the merciless predator who ruled New York’s underworld stepped forward.
"Get the convoy ready," Dominic barked into the receiver. "Full assault gear. No survivors."
"Wait!" I seized his arm, ignoring the stabbing pain in my side. "Dominic, think! Pier 42 is the old naval depot. It's a kill-box designed for syndicate ambushes. If you roll in with an armored convoy, Julian will detonate the entire dock before you even breach the gates. He wants us alone."
Dominic turned to me, his jaw pulsing. "He has my son."
"And Caleb is my family too!" I shouted back, fire flashing in my eyes. "Julian knows how I think, but I know how he traps. We don't bring an army. We bring a ghost."
Ten minutes later, we were inside Dominic’s private underground armory. I pulled on a lightweight Kevlar vest over my bandages, holstering dual customized Glock 19s and clipping tactical flashbangs to my belt. Dominic loaded a suppressed MPX submachine gun and strapped a serrated combat blade to his thigh.
There were no more lies between us. We were two broken killers bound by a little boy who deserved a chance to live in the light.
We took an unmarked black speedboat across the choppy waters of the East River, cutting through the thick morning fog toward Pier 42. The abandoned industrial warehouse loomed out of the mist like a decaying leviathan.
Dominic cut the engine two hundred yards out, letting the current drift us against the mossy wooden pylons beneath the pier.
"Thermal scan shows four hostiles on the catwalks, two near the central shipping container, and one heat signature inside," Dominic whispered, checking his wrist monitor. "Caleb is in that container."
"Julian will be on the crane platform above," I pointed out, loading a fresh magazine into my sidearm with a crisp clack. "He wants to watch me walk into the open."
Dominic grabbed my tactical vest, pulling me in until our visors almost touched. "Stay alive, Evie. When this is over, we're taking Caleb to the Amalfi coast. Just the three of us."
A rare, genuine smile touched my lips. "Hold that thought, Mercer. Cover my flank."
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We split up—Dominic scaling the rusted industrial stairs to eliminate the catwalk snipers from the shadows, while I slipped through the flooded lower drainage pipe, stepping into the belly of the beast.
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