Chapter 4 - The Ledger of Blood
Victor Rostov froze. He slowly lifted his hand, signaling his remaining men to hold their fire.
His smug, condescending smile vanished, replaced by an expression of sharp, dangerous intrigue.
"Dominic Falcone," Rostov said, his thick accent cutting through the rain. "I invited your charming little assistant. I did not expect the lion to leave his den for a secretary."
Dominic stepped forward into the yellow floodlight, closing the umbrella and handing it to Nora. He didn't raise a weapon. He didn't even unbutton his coat.
"You invited Natalie Hughes, Victor," Dominic said, his voice echoing through the hollow cavern of the pier. "You didn't realize that Natalie Hughes has been under the protection of the Falcone family since the day she signed her employment contract."
Rostov laughed, though the sound was tight and strained under the unseen sniper scope painted on his skull.
"An employee, Dominic? You bring three battalions of the Five Points Syndicate to the Brooklyn docks for a woman who files your expense reports?"
Nora looked up at the catwalk, her eyes locking onto Lily. "Lily! Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay! Nora, please, don't let them hurt you!" Lily sobbed, pulling against the coarse zip-ties binding her wrists to the metal post.
Dominic ignored Rostov entirely and looked up at Lily. "Miss Hughes. Look at me."
Lily sniffled, her wide, terrified blue eyes dropping to the tall man in the bespoke black coat.
"I am Dominic Falcone," he said, his tone commanding and remarkably gentle. "In three minutes, you will walk down those stairs and into my car. You will not look at the ground, and you will not look at these men. Do you understand me?"
Lily nodded frantically, swallowing her tears.
Rostov’s grip on his cane tightened until his knuckles turned gray. "You are very confident, Falcone. You think because you have a sniper on a barge that you control this pier? I have thirty men inside the container depot."
"You had thirty men inside the container depot, Victor," Dominic corrected calmly.
Dominic raised his left hand, flicking two fingers.
The high-pitched whine of heavy turbodiesel engines roared to life around the pier. Through the dense curtain of rain, four armored tactical carriers breached the perimeter gates, crushing Rostov’s diplomatic SUVs like aluminum soda cans.
Fifty armed men in matching black uniforms swept into the bay, their assault weapons trained on the catwalk in a flawless interlocking firing arc.
May you like
Rostov looked around, his aristocratic composure crumbling into sheer terror. "You violated the territorial accord!"
"You threatened my house when you touched her," Dominic said, stepping up the first three treads of the industrial staircase. "The accord died the second you sent that photograph to her phone."
