Chapter 5 - The Port Authority Trap
Pier 74 at the municipal docks was bathed in the harsh, sodium-orange glow of overhead crane lights. The salt-heavy wind whipped off the dark water, carrying the metallic scent of rust, diesel, and low-grade explosives.
Inside warehouse C, Viktor Vance — no relation to Richard, but a self-proclaimed kingpin from the Brooklyn docks — paced back and forth across the concrete floor. He took a long drag from a Cuban cigar, blowing a thick cloud of smoke toward a dozen armed mercenaries standing in a circle around a stack of wooden crates.
"Listen up," Viktor barked, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls. "The local syndicate thinks they own this city because an old lady and a blind dog live on a dead-end street. Tonight, we hit their supply lines, torch their warehouses, and send a message that the Iron Network runs these docks now!"
"Are you sure about this, Boss?" one of his lieutenants asked, nervously checking the magazine of his submachine gun. "Word is, the widow Vance didn't actually retire. She just went underground."
"She's a ghost story told to frighten greenhorns," Viktor sneered, throwing his cigar onto the floor and grinding it beneath his heel. "A widow with a limp and an old dog? Please. By midnight, we'll—"
CLANG.
The heavy steel roll-up door at the front of the warehouse didn't just open; it was blown off its electric tracks with a deafening roar, crashing violently onto the concrete.
Smoke billowed into the warehouse, carrying the sharp scent of flash-bang residue. From the blinding white fog emerged a single figure, flanked by a phalanx of men in tactical gear.
It wasn't Wilton. It was Kayla.
She wore a long, charcoal wool coat that swept against the floor with every measured step. Her hands were tucked neatly into her pockets, her expression as serene as if she were walking through a botanical garden on a Sunday afternoon.
"Who the hell are you?" Viktor shouted, drawing a silver-plated pistol from his holster and leveling it at her chest. "Freeze right there or I'll—"
"You ruined my morning walk," Kayla said quietly, her voice cutting through the ringing silence of the warehouse.
Viktor laughed nervously, though his hand began to tremble. "Shoot her! What are you waiting for, shoot her!"
None of his mercenaries moved. In fact, every single one of them had slowly lowered their weapons, their eyes wide with sudden, unadulterated terror as they recognized the silver lapel pin on Kayla's coat — the crossed iron keys of the Vance Syndicate.
"You're... you're her," Viktor whispered, color draining entirely from his face. "You're the Widow."
"And you're standing on my docks," Kayla replied.
May you like
She took three more steps forward, stopped, and signaled with a single tilt of her head. From the darkness above, laser sights flickered to life across the rafters, dozens of red dots painting the chests of every single member of the Iron Network.
"Wilton," Kayla said softly. "Take care of the inventory. Leave Viktor to me; I want to teach him how to pet a dog."
