Chapter 4 - The Red Hook Ambush
Midnight at the Red Hook terminal was a landscape of rusted iron, towering shipping containers, and black ocean water sloshing against the timber pilings. The fog rolled in off the bay, thick and wet, swallowing the yellow beams of the sodium streetlights.
My black armored SUV pulled to a stop in the center of an open gravel lot, surrounded by stacks of steel cargo crates.
I stepped out into the cold sea air, flanked by Frank and four of my most trusted guards. My heavy wool coat was unbuttoned, my hand resting casually near the custom 9mm sidearm tucked into my leather shoulder holster.
A hundred yards away, standing near the shadow of a crane, was Marco. He was surrounded by six of his own personal men—men who had sworn loyalty to him over the family.
“Alessandro!” Marco called out, his voice echoing off the corrugated steel walls. “You shouldn't have brought so few men! Carmine’s shooters are everywhere!”
I walked forward slowly, my leather shoes crunching against the wet gravel, stopping twenty paces from him. “Is that so, Marco? Then why aren't they shooting?”
Marco’s smile faltered slightly. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the Cayman Islands account,” I said calmly. “I’m talking about the forged debt notes. I’m talking about Thomas Miller’s voicemail.”
The air turned instantly to ice. The men standing behind Marco shifted uncomfortably, their hands dropping toward their belts.
Marco’s face hardened, the mask of the loyal underboss slipping away entirely to reveal the cold, power-hungry rat underneath. “You were always too sentimental, Alessandro,” he spat. “Checking up on poor widows in diners. Worrying about honor and legacy while the rest of the city gets rich on shipping routes. The Moretti family was built on blood, not charity!”
“My father built this family on loyalty,” I replied, my voice echoing with absolute authority. “And you sold it for a percentage of Carmine’s drugs.”
“Carmine offered me half of Brooklyn!” Marco sneered, raising his hand into the air. “And tonight, he takes the rest!”
Marco snapped his fingers, signaling for the snipers he had stationed on top of the shipping containers to open fire.
Nothing happened.
Silence hung over the docks, save for the moan of the wind against the steel crates.
Marco’s eyes widened in sudden, blinding panic. He snapped his fingers again, louder this time. “Carmine! Open fire!”
Above us, spotlights suddenly flared to life from the top of four surrounding cranes, illuminating the entire lot in blinding white light. Standing on the high walkways were my men, led by Leo, holding heavy automatic rifles. Carmine’s snipers had been silently neutralized twenty minutes before I even arrived.
“Looking for these?” Frank asked, stepping forward and tossing a dozen silenced rifles onto the gravel at Marco’s feet.
Marco backed away, his face pale with horror as he realized he was completely surrounded. “Alessandro... wait... we’re brothers! We can work this out!”
“Brothers don't erase innocent men,” I said coldly, pulling my weapon from my holster. “Brothers don't threaten my son’s home.”
Before I could pull the trigger, a sudden radio crackle broke from Marco’s belt.
A raspy, laughing voice filled the quiet air—Carmine Moretti’s voice. “Did you really think I’d put all my chips on your dock trap, Marco? While you were playing soldier at Red Hook, my team breached the Bay Ridge estate ten minutes ago. Tell Alessandro his little boy and his new girlfriend are on their way to the bottom of the East River.”
My blood turned to pure liquid fire.
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I fired a single shot, striking Marco squarely in the thigh. He screamed, dropping to his knees in the wet gravel.
“Keep him alive!” I roared at Frank, sprinting back toward my SUV. “We’re going to the estate! NOW!”
