Chapter 5 - The War for Port Haven
The retaliatory strike was not fought with chaos, but with surgical precision. Over the next forty-eight hours, Roman Bellamy demonstrated why he had survived a decade at the top of the New England underworld.
From the command center on the island, Roman unleashed an economic and tactical avalanche. Bank accounts tied to Silas Vance and his Boston backers were frozen through back-channel leaks to federal authorities. Safehouses in Portland were raided by local police tipped off by anonymous calls containing undeniable evidence.
By the third night, Silas Vance’s forces had been squeezed out of the cities and driven back to where it all began: the abandoned docks of Port Haven.
The night was black and rain-soaked as Roman stepped off a steel-hulled assault craft onto the slippery planks of the Port Haven pier. He wore a heavy black tactical coat over his suit, accompanied by thirty silent, heavily armed men who had served him faithfully for a decade.
Eli walked at his right flank. "Vance is inside Warehouse 4. He’s got six men left. He’s frantic, Roman. He knows the feds are closing in from the land side."
"Then let’s finish it before the feds arrive," Roman said.
They breached the high corrugated doors of Warehouse 4 with a thunderous breach-charge. The light inside was harsh and yellow, swinging wildly from overhead sodium lamps.
Silas Vance, a thin, rat-faced man in an expensive tailored coat now stained with grease and mud, backed away into the shadows of stacked fish crates. His remaining gunmen raised their weapons, but Roman’s men were faster, taking them down with precise, non-lethal suppressive fire before they could squeeze a trigger.
Within thirty seconds, Silas was pinned against an upturned wooden pallet, Roman’s gloved hand clamped tightly around his throat.
"Where is the rest of the file?" Roman demanded, his voice chillingly calm. "The hospital records. The original logs from nine years ago."
Silas gagged, his eyes bulging with terror. "It’s... it’s in the safe! In the office! Bellamy, please! It wasn't my idea! My father... my father took the money from Hector! I was just trying to collect what was owed!"
"Owed?" Roman sneered, pressing the man harder against the wood until the frame cracked. "You lied about a dead child. You let a woman raise my daughter in poverty while you built a lifestyle out of blood money."
"I can give you the names!" Silas wept, tears streaming down his pale cheeks. "The board members in New York! The ones who ordered the hit on Clara’s car!"
Roman’s eyes flickered. "The car?"
Silas paled, realizing he had said too much. "It... it was an accident..."
"Clara’s brake lines were cut," Roman said, the realization settling into his bone marrow like liquid nitrogen. "It wasn't a slippery bridge. It was a hit."
"Hector ordered it!" Silas screamed. "He found out she was pregnant! He wanted the baby dead so you wouldn't have anything to live for!"
Roman stared at the trembling creature in his grip. Nine years of grief, guilt, and self-loathing boiled down to a single, ugly truth: his love for Clara hadn't been her undoing; the monsters around him had killed her to keep him chained to their war.
He let go of Silas, letting the man drop like a sack of wet salt onto the concrete floor.
"Eli," Roman said, turning his back on Vance. "Hand him over to the state police along with the hard drives from that safe. Let him spend the rest of his pathetic life in a maximum-security cell talking to federal prosecutors."
"And the New York board?" Eli asked.
May you like
Roman looked out the open warehouse door toward the dark horizon where the sea met the sky.
"Send them a message," Roman said quietly. "Tell them Roman Bellamy is dead. And if any of them ever step foot in Maine again, they’ll find out what comes after the storm."
