Chapter 10 - Ambush at the Waterfront
Pier 42 was a rotting expanse of creosote timber and rusted shipping containers jutting into the black, churning waters of the Willamette River. Fog hung over the water like funeral gauze, muffling the distant hum of the city bridges.
A single halogen work light swayed from an overhead crane, casting long, erratic shadows across the wet wooden planks.
Vincent Moretti stood beneath the light. He was thirty-five, dressed in an expensive Italian leather jacket that looked absurd against the industrial grime of the docks. He had the sharp, impatient face of an heir who had inherited power without ever bleeding for it. Six of his gunmen stood flanking him, smoking nervously, their breath steaming in the freezing air.
The heavy growl of a single engine echoed down the pier approach.
My black Maybach rolled slowly past the shipping containers, its headlights cutting through the mist, before coming to a smooth stop thirty yards from Vincent's group.
The driver’s door opened. I stepped out alone into the rain.
Vincent smirked, stepping forward, his hands shoved arrogantly into his jacket pockets. "Anderson! You actually showed up! Where’s the girl?"
"She’s in bed," I said, walking slowly toward him, my hands visible, resting loosely at my sides. "Where children belong at midnight."
Vincent’s smirk curdled into a sneer. "You think this is a joke? You think because my uncle lost his stomach that Chicago belongs to you? That brat is worth two billion in Moretti estate trusts! She’s my ticket to the throne!"
"She's a little girl whose heart is sick," I said, stopping ten paces away. "And you used her mitten to threaten my home."
"I’m going to do a lot more than threaten your home, Anderson," Vincent barked, pulling a polished nickel-plated revolver from his waistband. "You step aside, or I paint this dock with your brains and go get her myself!"
"Vincent," I said softly, shaking my head with genuine pity. "You made three mistakes tonight."
Vincent frowned, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Yeah? What mistakes?"
"First, you thought this pier belonged to the Port Authority. It belongs to me."
A red laser dot appeared directly on Vincent's forehead.
He froze.
"Second," I continued, taking another step forward. "You thought my uncle Salvatore was the most dangerous man in your family. But Salvatore was civilized. He understood limits."
Three more red dots appeared on Vincent's chest. Around the perimeter of the shipping containers, the dark silhouettes of Marcus's tactical team materialized from the fog like ghosts, carbines leveled with terrifying precision. Vincent's six bodyguards gasped, instantly dropping their weapons onto the wooden planks with frantic clatters of surrender.
"And third," I whispered, reaching into my coat and drawing my weapon with blinding speed. "You thought you were the hunter."
Crack.
A single suppressed round took the revolver clean out of Vincent’s hand in an explosion of splintered steel and blood. Vincent shrieked, collapsing to his knees, clutching his mangled wrist.
"Drop your weapons and kick them into the river!" Marcus’s voice roared through the fog. The remaining Chicago gunmen didn't hesitate; they kicked their sidearms over the edge, listening to the heavy splashes below, and dropped to their knees with their hands locked behind their heads.
I walked over to Vincent, who was weeping in the puddle of rain and blood, staring up at me with absolute, paralyzing terror.
I pressed the warm barrel of my Kimber .45 directly against the bridge of his nose.
"Please... Anderson, please!" he choked out, his arrogance completely shattered. "It was business! Just business! Salvatore told us to back down, I went rogue! Don't kill me!"
"You threatened my daughter," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "There is no business in that. There is only death."
"Daniel!" a voice called out from the darkness of the pier.
I didn't lower my weapon, but my eyes shifted slightly.
Stepping through the fog was Leo Varga. He was unarmed, his hands raised high in the air, his coat soaked with rain.
"Leo," I said without moving the gun from Vincent’s face. "You want to join him in the river?"
"No," Leo said, his voice exhausted. "Salvatore sent me. He intercepted Vincent's communication logs two hours ago. The old man had another massive coronary this evening, Daniel. He’s on life support. He won't survive the night."
Vincent looked up at Leo, his eyes wild. "Leo! Shoot him! Help me!"
Leo looked down at Vincent with cold disgust. "Salvatore stripped you of your name, Vincent. He signed the executive decree from his hospital bed. You’re excommunicated. You don't represent Chicago. You don't represent Moretti."
Leo looked back at me, his eyes dead and hollow. "Give him to me, Daniel. Let me take him back to Chicago. He will answer to the family council for treason against the Don's direct orders. I swear on my mother’s soul, he will never see the outside of an Illinois basement."
I stared down at Vincent. Killing him here was easy; one twitch of my finger and the river would swallow his body. But Emma’s words from earlier that evening echoed in my mind: The wolves don't bite us. We hunt them.
I didn't want Emma’s new life to be founded on a mountain of street corpses if the rot could be excised cleanly.
I lowered my weapon.
"Take your garbage," I told Leo, stepping back. "And take every Moretti soldier out of Oregon before dawn. If I see a single Chicago plate in this state tomorrow, I won't call a meeting. I will eradicate your entire organization from the map."
Leo bowed his head respectfully. "Understood, Mr. Anderson. And... thank you. For Sarah’s sake."
Two of Leo’s men stepped forward, hauling the sobbing, bleeding Vincent to his feet and dragging him toward an idling van.
Marcus stepped up beside me, lowering his rifle. "Is it over, Boss?"
May you like
I looked out over the dark, quiet waters of the Willamette River. The fog was beginning to lift, revealing the distant, sparkling lights of downtown Portland.
"The war is over," I said, exhaling a long plume of warm breath into the freezing night. "Now we save my daughter."
