Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Harbor
Midnight descended over the Starks estate like a shroud of black velvet. The sprawling Long Island mansion sat perched on a private bluff overlooking the Atlantic, isolated and heavily fortified. Yet, inside his private study on the third floor, Rory Starks found no comfort in the steel shutters or the perimeter guards.
He sat behind a massive mahogany desk, staring at a series of financial ledgers and shipping manifests spread before him.
For the past ten years, Rory’s rise to dominance over the New York waterfront had been absolute. But an empire built on docks, shipping containers, and underground logistics came with a heavy tax of enemies.
He thought of the men he had crushed: rival syndicates in Brooklyn, corrupt union bosses he had stripped of power, and federal prosecutors whose careers he had quietly dismantled. Any one of them could be seeking vengeance. But targeting six-year-old twin girls? That crossed a line into a cruelty so profound it defied the standard rules of the underworld.
The secure intercom on his desk buzzed.
“Boss,” Marcus’s deep voice crackled through the speaker. “We’ve intercepted a transmission on the outer marine band. Encrypted frequency. It originated from a warehouse in Red Hook, Brooklyn—one of our primary container depots.”
Rory leaned forward, pressing the talk button. “Whose frequency?”
“The Morosco family,” Marcus replied grimly. “Salvatore Morosco’s people. They’ve been uncharacteristically quiet since you took over the west-side piers last spring. I think they’re making a move.”
Rory stood up, grabbing his heavy wool coat from the back of his chair. “Get the cars ready. We’re going to Brooklyn.”
“Are you sure you want to leave the house tonight, Mr. Starks? It’s almost two-thirty. You know what time it is.”
May you like
Rory’s jaw tightened. “The nightmares happen whether I’m sitting in the hallway or hunting down ghosts in Brooklyn. Let’s ride.”
Within twenty minutes, a convoy of three black armored Suburbans roared down the private driveway, cutting through the damp night fog toward the city. Rory sat in the back seat, staring out at the dark, churning waters of the East River as they crossed the bridge, his mind torn between the war on the docks and the haunting cries of his daughters waiting for him back home.
