Chapter 6 - Sunrise at the Harbor
The sunrise over the East River was cold and grey, cutting through the industrial smog of the Brooklyn waterfront like a rusty knife.
The private shipping warehouse at Pier 42 was officially closed, but inside the cavernous concrete structure, twenty men stood in absolute silence. Half of them wore the sharp, tailored suits of the Carbone syndicate; the other half wore the heavy wool coats of the old-school New York Commission.
Marco Santori sat at a steel packing table in the center of the room, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Two armed enforcers stood behind his chair, their hands resting loosely inside their jackets.
Heavy iron doors at the far end of the warehouse groaned open.
Dominic Carbone walked in alone.
He wore a dark trench coat over his charcoal suit, his hands gloved in black leather, his stride unhurried and absolute. He didn't look like a man attending a summit; he looked like an executioner arriving for a scheduled appointment.
"Well, look who decided to show up," Santori laughed, standing up and spreading his arms wide. "Thought you might be too busy hiding your little housekeeper to make the drive, Dominic."
Dominic stopped ten feet away from the table. He didn't take off his gloves.
"You made a mistake, Marco," Dominic said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
"Mistake? I’m expanding our portfolio," Santori sneered. "That land is worth millions once the highway goes through. You’re letting sentimentality cloud your judgment over some nobody widow."
"She’s not a nobody," Dominic said quietly.
Before Santori could laugh, a heavy diesel engine roared outside the warehouse doors. The side loading bay rolled open with a deafening screech of metal.
Headlights cut through the dim interior. Two black SUVs pulled inside, followed by a sleek black sedan.
The doors opened, and old Don Salvatore Valenti stepped out, flanked by four massive bodyguards. Salvatore looked older, his face lined with decades of violence and compromise, but his eyes were sharp as broken glass. He walked straight past Santori and stopped directly in front of Dominic.
"Carbone," Salvatore grunted respectfully.
"Valenti," Dominic nodded.
Santori’s smile vanished. He stepped forward, his face flushing with sudden panic. "Uncle Salvatore... what are you doing here? This is my meeting—"
"Quiet, you arrogant fool," Salvatore snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. He turned back to Dominic. "You brought me out here at six in the morning for a reason, Dominic. Let’s hear it."
Dominic reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of pink construction paper.
He unfolded it slowly. It was Evie’s drawing from the day before—a crude, colorful crayon drawing of a green dinosaur and a house with a crooked roof.
Dominic placed the paper gently on the steel packing table, right beside Santori’s ledger.
"Marco Santori sent men into a residential wing," Dominic said, his voice flat and deadly calm. "He threatened a four-year-old child. He murdered my attorney to cover his tracks. And in doing so, he brought federal heat down on every single port from here to Montauk."
Salvatore’s eyes dropped to the drawing. Then he looked slowly at Marco Santori.
"Is this true?" Salvatore whispered, his voice trembling with age-old rage. "You brought federal attention down on us... over a child's toy?"
"It’s a lie! Dominic is making it up to steal the waterfront deal!" Santori screamed, reaching frantically inside his jacket for his firearm.
He never cleared leather.
With blinding speed, Luca Moretti stepped out from behind a concrete pillar, his silencer-fitted pistol clicking once as he fired a single round directly into the concrete floor an inch from Santori’s right shoe.
At the same time, Valenti’s bodyguards drew their weapons and aimed them squarely at Santori’s chest.
Santori froze, his hand still trapped inside his jacket, sweat instantly beading across his forehead.
"The Commission charter is clear," Dominic said, walking slowly toward Santori until he was close enough to smell the cheap cologne. "Targeting families, violating domestic sanctuaries, and bringing unauthorized federal investigations onto syndicate assets carries only one penalty."
May you like
Dominic looked over his shoulder at Don Salvatore.
The old man gave a slow, solemn nod. "The debt is paid in full, Dominic. Do what must be done."
