Chapter 5 - Confrontation at the Docks
Ten miles away, at the edge of the dark, salt-crusted harbor, Port 14 was swallowed by fog and driving rain. Massive steel shipping containers were stacked like giant building blocks, creating dark, narrow alleyways where the sound of the crashing waves drowned out all other noise.
Inside a converted office trailer overlooking the pier, Mateo Rossi sat behind a folding table, typing furiously on a ruggedized military laptop. A thick cigar burned down in a glass ashtray beside him, filling the cramped space with blue, acrid smoke.
Standing beside him were four heavy-set men in leather jackets—hired guns from the south, men who held no loyalty to the Moretti name, only to the thick stacks of cash Mateo had promised them.
"How much longer?" one of the mercenaries barked, chewing on a toothpick as he watched the rain strike the window.
"Five minutes," Mateo replied without looking up, his fingers flying across the keyboard as progress bars ticked slowly toward one hundred percent. "The encryption protocols are heavy. Once the transfer completes, the Moretti holding accounts will be emptied into Panama, and the port rights will belong to Don Salieri."
"And the old man's son?" the mercenary asked. "Dante?"
Mateo let out a dry, contemptuous laugh. "Dante is a broken shell. He’s spent eight years staring at wall paintings and brooding over a dead girl. By the time he realizes his bank accounts are dry, we’ll be on a private flight to Rio."
Suddenly, the lights inside the trailer flickered and died, plunging the room into pitch blackness.
"What the hell—" the mercenary reached for his sidearm, but before his hand could touch the holster, the reinforced glass window of the trailer shattered inward in a shower of deadly shards.
A flashbang grenade bounced across the metal floor, detonating with a blinding burst of white light and a deafening roar.
Chaos erupted instantly. The mercenaries fired blindly into the dark, the muzzle flashes illuminating smoke and flying debris. But the response was swift, ruthless, and precise. Silenced gunshots echoed through the cramped space—pop, pop, pop—as Antonio’s men breached the doorway and window simultaneously.
Within thirty seconds, all four mercenaries were on the floor, disarmed and neutralized.
Mateo scrambled backward under the table, his face white with terror, clutching his laptop to his chest like a shield. The beam of a heavy tactical flashlight cut through the smoke, illuminating his sweating, terrified face.
Antonio Vane stepped into the ruined trailer, his coat dripping with rain, a heavy pistol held loosely at his side. He looked down at Mateo with pure disgust.
"Hello, Mateo," Antonio said softly. "The boss sends his regards."
"Antonio... please!" Mateo stammered, crawling out from under the table, his hands raised in desperate surrender. "You don't understand! Valentina planned all of it! She was the one who poisoned Chiara! I was just keeping the books! I was forced into this!"
"A dog always blames the master when the leash snaps," Antonio said coldly. He gestured to two of his men. "Drag him to the car. Secure the laptop. The boss wants to see him."
"Wait! No! You can't take me back there!" Mateo screamed as the two massive veterans hoisted him up by his elbows, dragging him kicking and screaming into the torrential downpour outside. "He'll kill me! He's insane!"
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Antonio picked up Mateo’s lit cigar from the edge of the table, dropped it into the puddle forming on the floor, and crushed it beneath his boot.
"He's not insane, Mateo," Antonio muttered into the dark. "He's just wide awake."
