Chapter 7 - The Reckoning in Brooklyn
At 3:30 AM, the Valenti shipping terminal in Red Hook, Brooklyn, was silent except for the rhythmic lap of dirty harbor water against the wooden pilings.
Inside the main warehouse, illuminated by harsh overhead halogen lights, Salvatore 'The Viper' Valenti paced back and forth across the concrete floor like a caged animal. He was fifty-five, thick-waisted, wearing a blood-red silk shirt open at the collar, a heavy gold crucifix dangling against his chest.
"Where is Jimmy?!" Sal roared at his lieutenant, a greasy man named Paulie. "He was supposed to report two hours ago! Why isn't he answering his phone?!"
"Boss, the storm cut out the cell towers near the river," Paulie stammered, sweating through his shirt. "Maybe the team got delayed—"
The heavy corrugated steel doors of the warehouse were ripped off their tracks with a deafening metallic screech.
A blacked-out armored truck smashed through the entrance, scattering wooden pallets and shipping crates in a shower of splinters and steel cable.
"INTRUDERS!" Paulie screamed, drawing his weapon.
Before the Valenti guards could react, smoke grenades rained down from the shattered roof skylights, filling the warehouse with blinding white chemical fog.
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
The sharp, synchronized report of high-caliber rifles cut through the fog.
Vincent Moretti’s assault team moved through the warehouse like specters of death. Tactical operators dressed in black gear swept through the aisles, neutralizing Valenti’s guards with mechanical, devastating efficiency.
Sal Valenti panicked. He sprinted toward his private office at the back of the warehouse, his heavy boots slapping against the concrete floor, his hands trembling as he reached for the door handle.
A heavy hand grabbed Sal by his hair, violently yanking him backward.
Sal crashed hard onto his back on the cold concrete floor, gasping for air as his gold crucifix rattled against his chest.
He looked up.
Vincent Moretti stood over him, towering against the harsh white glare of the halogen lights. Vincent wore a black tactical vest over his suit, his face splattered with rainwater and soot, his Sig Sauer held loosely at his side.
Behind him, the warehouse was dead silent. All eighteen of Valenti’s men had been disarmed, bound, or eliminated in under three minutes.
"Vincent..." Sal wheezed, scrambling backward until his spine hit the brick wall of his office. "Vincent, wait! It was a mistake! Jimmy acted alone! I didn't tell him to go to your house!"
Vincent stepped closer, his boots heavy against the concrete.
He didn't yell. He didn't show anger. His expression was as cold and unyielding as a gravestone.
"You targeted my home, Sal," Vincent said softly, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls. "You threatened a seven-year-old child."
"I'll pay you!" Sal wept, tears cutting through the grease on his face as he held up his hands in a pathetic gesture of mercy. "Take the Red Hook piers! Take the cargo lines! Everything! Just let me walk away!"
Vincent lowered himself onto one knee, right in front of the shivering mob boss, just as he had lowered himself in front of Sophia twenty-four hours ago.
"You don't understand, Sal," Vincent whispered, leaning in close. "You thought I was weak because I was grieving my wife. You thought my heart was broken."
Vincent reached into his vest pocket, pulled out the small blue cloth journal, and held it up so Sal could see it.
"My wife left me a message," Vincent said, his voice ringing with a terrifying, divine clarity. "She told me that even the deepest wounds heal. And tonight, Sal... I am completely healed."
Vincent raised his pistol.
Thwip.
The silencer barked once into the quiet warehouse.
Vincent stood up, wiped a speck of dust from his lapel, and put the blue journal back into his vest pocket.
He looked back at his lead operator.
May you like
"Clear the site," Vincent commanded calmly. "Transfer all Valenti assets to Moretti Maritime by sunrise. We are done here."
He turned and walked out of the warehouse into the cool morning air over Brooklyn, heading home.
