Chapter 7 - The Reckoning at Pier 4
The Customs House warehouse was a cavernous, brick-vaulted cathedral of iron beams and towering crates smelling of salt water and old rope.
Outside, the snowstorm howled off Boston Harbor, throwing dark waves against the wooden pilings beneath the pier. Inside, the only light came from a single overhead halogen lamp swinging gently above a wooden table in the center of the room.
Maribel and Annie sat safely in the foreman’s office overlooking the main floor, guarded by two of Leo’s most trusted loyalists.
Down below, Dominic stood beside the table, waiting.
The heavy iron doors at the front of the warehouse creaked open. Footsteps echoed across the concrete floor—slow, deliberate, and entirely unafraid.
A figure stepped into the circle of halogen light.
It wasn't a federal agent. It wasn't a rogue syndicate foot soldier.
It was Victor Bellini.
And walking right beside him, holding a nickel-plated automatic with casual familiarity, was Marco Vance—Dominic’s chief financial officer and the man who had managed the Vale family finances for fifteen years.
Dominic didn’t look surprised. He simply watched them approach, resting his hands casually on the edge of the wooden table.
“I told you, Victor,” Marco Vance said with a smooth, chilling smile, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “Dominic always figured out his problems with a gun. He never suspected the ledger.”
“You’re a clever bastard, Marco,” Dominic said, his voice dangerously low. “Fifteen years of loyal service while you were selling our shipping routes to the feds and skimming millions from the docks.”
“Not just skimming, Dominic—taking over,” Marco corrected smoothly, raising his pistol slightly. “The old ways are dead. The syndicates are shrinking. By framing you for federal corruption and letting the Bellini war wipe out your top captains, Victor and I were going to carve up Boston between us.”
“And Maribel?” Dominic asked, his fingers tightening around the grip of his concealed automatic. “Did Marco sell her out to the feds four years ago too?”
Victor Bellini shifted uncomfortably, looking at Marco with sudden distaste. “I didn't know about his wife, Dom. Marco handled the hit on the car. I swear I just wanted the Atlantic Avenue docks.”
“Ignorance isn't an excuse, Victor,” Dominic murmured.
Marco laughed softly, raising his pistol higher. “It doesn't matter what you know, Dominic. You’re standing in an abandoned warehouse during a blizzard. The federal task force is five minutes behind us, tracking the transponder I slipped into your car. When they arrive, they’ll find you dead beside your rival, both of you riddled with bullets in a turf war.”
Marco pulled the trigger.
Click.
Marco blinked, pulling the trigger again. Click. Click.
Dominic didn't flinch. He slowly lifted his left hand from the table, holding the magazine he had quietly removed from Marco’s weapon three minutes earlier while standing in the shadows by the office stairs.
Marco’s face drained of color. “What...?”
“You talk too much, Marco,” Dominic said coldly.
Before Marco could raise his hands, a deafening roar echoed across the warehouse rafters.
Leo Santoro stepped out from the upper gantry, his shotgun leveled at the floor. At the same moment, the side doors of the warehouse blew open, and a dozen of Dominic’s loyal soldiers flooded the floor, weapons raised, cutting off every escape route.
Victor Bellini dropped to his knees instantly, throwing his hands behind his head. “I surrender! I didn’t know about the wife! I swear to God!”
Marco spun around, reaching desperately for his ankle holster, but Dominic was faster.
A single shot cracked through the warehouse air.
Marco gasped, dropping his weapon as a bullet cleanly shattered his shooting wrist. He collapsed onto the concrete, screaming in agony as blood pooled across the gray floor.
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Dominic walked slowly toward him, his shadow falling long and heavy over the fallen traitor. He stood over Marco for a long moment, looking down with cold, absolute detachment, before turning away and walking toward the office stairs.
The war for Boston was over.
