Chapter 6 - The Harbor Trap
The world seemed to tilt on its axis.
For three years, I had kept my son safe in the dust and heat of Arizona. I had traded my identity, my home, and my peace of mind for one single purpose: to protect that little boy. And now, less than two hours after stepping foot back in Miami, he was gone.
"Find them," I whispered, my voice shaking with a terrifying, lethal fury that eclipsed even Luca’s rage. "If they touch a single hair on his head, I will burn every dock, every warehouse, and every last man in this city to ash."
Luca didn't blink. He reached out and grabbed my shoulders, his grip fierce, grounding me in the eye of the storm.
"Listen to me, Giana," Luca commanded, his voice dark and steady as a loaded gun. "They want the ports. They want the syndicate. They took him to draw us into the open at the south container terminal. We are going to get our son back. Together."
Within ten minutes, a heavily armed convoy roared out of the Coral Gables estate, racing through the pre-dawn Miami streets toward the port district.
The south container terminal was a labyrinth of towering steel cranes, stacked shipping containers, and shadowed alleyways smelling of diesel fuel and ocean spray. The rain had started to fall in sheets, turning the asphalt into a slick, shimmering mirror reflecting the harsh amber glare of overhead floodlights.
Our vehicles screeched to a halt near Berth 4.
Luca’s men spilled out into the rain, taking tactical positions behind stacked crates. Luca and I stepped out together, our movements synchronized, deadlier than any hit squad in the city.
In the center of an open loading bay stood Viktor Vance—the ruthless boss of the Chicago Outfit—surrounded by a dozen armed thugs. And right in front of him, held tightly in the arms of a scarred enforcer, was Leo.
My son was crying, his tiny voice piercing through the roar of the rain.
"Mommy! Mommy!"
"Let him go, Vance!" Luca shouted, stepping forward into the light, his Glock raised and locked dead on Vance’s chest.
Vance laughed, a harsh, grating sound that cut through the wind. He wore an expensive white trench coat that looked entirely out of place among the rusted shipping containers.
"Put the gun down, Fontana!" Vance yelled over the rain, pressing the barrel of a pistol casually against the side of Leo’s little blue blanket. "One twitch, and the kid joins his mother in the obituary columns. Oh, wait—we thought the mother was already dead!"
My vision turned blood-red.
Before Luca could fire, before Vance’s enforcer could tighten his grip, I dropped my trench coat to the wet asphalt, revealing the shoulder holster strapped securely across my chest.
Vance’s eyes widened in shock as I raised my weapon, bypassed Luca, and took two steps forward into the open floodlight.
"You're holding the wrong person hostage, Vance," I called out, my voice cutting through the storm with chilling clarity.
Vance sneered. "And what are you going to do about it, sweetheart? Shoot me from fifty yards away?"
"No," I said coldly. "I’m going to watch my husband kill you. But before he does that..."
I flicked my wrist.
May you like
From the shadow of a towering crane above Berth 4, Matteo’s sniper rifle cracked once, shattering the floodlight directly above Vance’s head in a shower of white-hot sparks and glass.
Panic erupted instantly among the Chicago thugs.
