Chapter 7 - The Assault on Pier 14
The salty mist of the Ligurian Sea hung thick over Genoa’s industrial harbor, mixing with the stench of diesel fuel and rotting fish. Rain battered the corrugated steel roof of Warehouse 14, masking the low rumble of Lorenzo's strike team as they took their positions in the shadows of towering shipping containers.
Lorenzo stood atop a stack of steel crates, his tactical radio pressed to his ear, observing the warehouse through night-vision binoculars. Two snipers guarded the catwalks, while six guards patrolled the perimeter with Belgian Malinois attack dogs. Inside, thermal imaging showed Silvio Falcone pacing on an elevated steel platform, surrounded by twenty armed enforcers. Tied to a wooden chair below him was a bruised, weeping young woman—Enzo's sister, Clara.
""Teams Alpha and Bravo in position,"" Gianni whispered over the comms. ""Waiting for your command, Don Lorenzo.""
""Hold,"" Lorenzo ordered. ""We hit the power transformer first. The moment the facility goes dark, snipe the catwalks. I'm going in through the roof access.""
Back in the command van parked half a mile away, Sofia sat nervously watching the drone monitors, holding a cup of untouched tea. Beside her, a stack of blankets was supposed to conceal a sleeping toddler. But when Sofia turned to check on her, the blanket was flat.
Sofia ripped the blanket back, a bloodcurdling scream catching in her throat. The booster seat was empty. In its place was a crude drawing of an ice chute and a crayon note that read: ON PATROL.
""Fausto!"" Sofia screamed into her headset. ""Mia is gone! She snuck out of the van!""
Meanwhile, high above the warehouse roof, a tiny shadow moved with impossible agility across the rusty corrugated panels. Mia had slipped through the maintenance hatch of the command van while the driver was checking the perimeter cameras, hitching a ride on the rear bumper of Alpha Team's supply truck. She was small enough to slip through the security fencing like a stray cat, completely undetected by the guard dogs whose senses were confused by the heavy coastal rain.
Clad in her black jacket, Mia found the blue-painted circular vent marked with an ice symbol. She unscrewed the loose wire grill with a metal spoon she had stolen from the kitchen, peering down into the dark, slick tube. It dropped straight down into the walk-in freezer adjoining the main office.
""Target acquired,"" Mia whispered into her plastic walkie-talkie, exactly like she had heard Lorenzo say on the ride over.
She slid down the metal chute, landing with a soft plop onto a pile of shaved ice inside the pitch-black industrial freezer. Shivering from the freezing air, she pushed through the heavy plastic strip curtains, peeking into the brightly lit warehouse floor just as Silvio Falcone raised his ivory cane to strike Clara across the face.
""Where is your brother, you little tramp?!"" Silvio roared. ""Why hasn't Cattaneo’s corpse washed ashore yet?!""
""Leave her alone, you monster!"" Clara wept.
From the shadows of the freezer door, Mia spotted the master electrical panel mounted on the adjacent wall—the big red lever labeled EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN in bold yellow paint. It was surrounded by flashing warning lights, placed low enough for factory workers to hit in case of an industrial accident.
Mia marched out of the freezer, her sneakers squeaking softly on the wet concrete. ""Hey! Ugly stick man!""
Silvio froze. Every single mercenary in the warehouse turned their weapons toward the small, solitary figure standing beneath the blinding halogen floodlights.
Silvio rubbed his eyes, convinced he was hallucinating from exhaustion. ""You?! How the hell did you get in here?!""
""You didn't pay the electricity bill,"" Mia said calmly.
With all her weight, Mia jumped up, grabbed the heavy red emergency lever with both hands, and pulled it down with a thunderous CLANG.
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The entire warehouse plummeted into total, absolute darkness.
An instant later, the glass skylights shattered into a million raining shards as Lorenzo and his tactical team rappelled down on high-tension ropes, their automatic weapons spitting fire into the darkness.
