Chapter 4 - Echoes in the Abandoned District
The industrial district was a graveyard of rusted steel and broken glass.
The SUVs slowed as we approached the outskirts of Pier 42.
The headlights were dimmed,
leaving us in a world of gray and black.
"Stop here,"
I whispered into the comms.
We moved on foot,
our boots crunching softly on the frozen slush.
The wind howled between the warehouses,
carrying the scent of salt and rot.
In the distance,
I saw the black sedan.
It was parked haphazardly near a loading dock,
its engine finally silent,
but its presence felt like a wound on the landscape.
"Luca, take the left flank,"
"Nico, take the right."
"I’m going through the front."
"Boss, that’s suicide,"
Luca whispered.
"No,"
I replied,
pulling my 1911 from its holster,
"it's a message."
I walked toward the warehouse doors,
not hiding,
not flinching.
I wanted them to see me.
I wanted them to know that the Moretti family had arrived.
As I reached the door,
I heard a muffled cry from inside.
It was a woman's voice,
filled with a desperation that made my grip tighten on the gun.
I kicked the door open,
the heavy metal banging against the brick wall with the force of a thunderclap.
The interior was lit by a single,
flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Three men stood around a chair where a woman was tied.
She was bruised,
her hair matted with sweat,
but her eyes were fierce.
"Who the hell are you?"
one of the men shouted,
reaching for a rifle on the table.
I didn't give him the chance.
The first shot caught him in the shoulder,
spinning him around.
The second shot hit the floor at the feet of the second man,
sending sparks flying.
"I’m the man who owns the air you’re breathing,"
I said,
my voice steady and cold.
"And you’re currently using too much of it."
The third man,
the one who looked like he was in charge,
held a knife to the woman’s throat.
"Back off, Moretti!"
he screamed,
his hand shaking.
"We know who you are,"
"but this doesn't concern you."
"This woman stole something from the wrong people."
I stepped into the light,
my eyes locked onto his.
"Everything in this city concerns me,"
"especially when you involve a six-year-old girl."
"Now,"
May you like
"put the knife down,"
"and maybe I’ll only take your hands."
