Chapter 7 - The Final Siege
Pier 54 was a decaying concrete structure jutting out into the black, rain-slicked waters of Puget Sound.
The storm raged with renewed fury as Victor’s convoy pulled into the dark alleys surrounding the industrial fish plant.
Inside the facility, Mick O’Shea and Luca Moretti’s younger brother, Anthony, were frantically packing duffel bags with stacks of hundred-dollar bills and encrypted hard drives. They knew their time in the city was up; Victor Costello had squeezed them into a corner with no exit.
“We take the boat to Vancouver,” Anthony Moretti barked, zipping a bag shut. “Then we fly to South America. My brother is already cutting a deal with federal prosecutors in DC—”
BOOM!
The heavy steel reinforced doors of the cold-storage plant exploded inward under a thermal charge.
Concrete dust and red emergency smoke poured into the room as Victor’s strike force poured through the breach, their weapons clearing the room with terrifying, military-grade efficiency.
Gunfire rattled off the corrugated steel walls, echoing across the dark water.
Mick O’Shea dropped behind a row of metal shelving, firing his pistol wildly into the smoke. “Costello! You can’t have this city! You think you own everything? You’re just a glorified street thug in an Italian suit!”
Victor walked through the smoke like an unstoppable force of nature. He was unhurried, dodging fire with practiced calm, returning three precise shots that dropped Anthony Moretti’s two remaining bodyguards.
Anthony tried to run toward the dock exit, but Matteo intercepted him, tackling him onto the ice-covered concrete floor and securing his hands in steel cuffs.
Mick O’Shea stumbled backward, his gun clicking empty. He backed into a corner of the freezing room, his back pressed against a wall of rusty ice pipes.
Victor stepped out of the fog, holding his Sig Sauer low at his side.
Mick sank to his knees, his hands raised in panic, his face dripping with cold sweat. “Victor—please! It was Moretti’s idea! He wanted the girl! He wanted to leverage your estate! I was just collecting a debt—a standard street debt!”
Victor stopped five feet from him, looking down at the groveling loan shark with absolute disgust.
“You threatened a sixteen-year-old boy in a hospital bed,” Victor said, his voice dropping into a tone colder than the icy room around them. “You made his sister bleed on my floors for eight months to pay off a fraudulent interest rate.”
“I’ll give the money back!” Mick sobbed, clutching his chest. “I’ll leave the state! You’ll never see me again!”
“You’re right,” Victor said softly. “I won't.”
Victor raised his weapon.
BANG.
The sound of the single shot was swallowed entirely by the roar of the ocean waves crashing against the pier outside.
Mick O’Shea collapsed sideways onto the cold floor, his reign of terror over the city’s desperate and vulnerable permanently ended.
Victor lowered his gun, wiped the rain from his face, and turned back toward the entrance.
“Clean this place up,” Victor commanded Matteo. “Burn the ledgers. Erase every record of every debt Mick O’Shea ever held in this city.”
“Yes, Boss,” Matteo replied with a deep bow of respect. “And the girl’s brother?”
May you like
Victor looked out at the morning sky beginning to break through the dark clouds over the bay.
“Tell the hospital to prepare Sam Hayes for discharge,” Victor said, a rare, genuine warmth softening his features. “He’s coming home.”
