Chapter 6 - The Battle of the Docks
Vittorio's eyes snapped from the steel canister up to my face. "Shoot him!" he screamed to his mercenaries. "Take the canister before he drops it!"
Before his men could pull a single trigger, I dropped the heavy cylinder—not into the water, but onto the wooden deck at my feet—and threw myself sideways behind a stack of heavy iron anchor chains just as a wall of automatic gunfire tore through the fog.
"Execute alpha command!" I roared into my throat mic.
High above us on the industrial crane towers, Mateo's snipers opened fire.
The loud, thunderous cracks of high-caliber rifle fire shattered the morning quiet. Three of Vittorio's mercenaries dropped instantly, their weapons clattering against the wet dock.
Mateo slammed the SUV into gear, roaring forward through the mist, using the armored vehicle as a mobile barrier between me and the remaining shooters. The heavy vehicle slammed into two of the mercenaries, knocking them into the freezing bay waters below.
I rolled up from behind the anchor chains, drawing my sidearm, and fired four quick shots through the fog, neutralizing the remaining warehouse shooters before they could maneuver around the vehicle.
Vittorio panicked. Seeing his private strike force dismantled in less than thirty seconds, he turned and sprinted wildly toward the gangway of The Sea Raven, shouting frantic orders to his captain to cast off the lines.
"Mateo! Secure the pier!" I ordered, sprinting through the lingering gunsmoke toward the yacht.
I leaped across the widening gap between the dock and the vessel's stern just as the heavy diesel engines roared to life, churning the dark water into white foam.
I landed heavily on the teakwood aft deck, rolling instantly as a shooter on the upper deck fired down at me. I returned fire upward, my shot hitting the mercenary through the canvas awning, sending his body tumbling over the railing into the churning propeller wash below.
I kicked open the heavy glass doors leading into the main saloon.
The interior was lavishly appointed with white leather furniture, mahogany paneling, and crystal decanters. At the far end of the saloon, near the door leading to the master stateroom, stood Vittorio.
He was frantically trying to load fresh cartridges into his chrome revolver, his hands shaking so violently that bullets were spilling across the polished floorboards.
I walked into the saloon, closing the heavy glass doors behind me, cutting off the sound of the roaring engine and the wind outside.
Vittorio snapped the cylinder shut, raising the gun with both hands, pointing it at my face.
"Stay back!" he screamed, his voice cracking with sheer terror. "I'll shoot you, Lorenzo! I swear to God I'll kill you!"
I didn't stop walking. I didn't raise my gun. I just kept advancing, step by steady step, my eyes fixed on his miserable, trembling face.
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"You're out of options, Vittorio," I said, my voice dead and quiet. "Your men are dead. Your boat is heading nowhere. And your ledger is in my hands."
Vittorio pulled the trigger.
