Chapter 6 - The Fish Pier Ambush
At 4:45 AM, a heavy, freezing mist hung low over Boston's historic Fish Pier. The ocean waves slapped rhythmically against the barnacle-encrusted wooden pilings beneath the dark warehouses, while distant foghorns blew across the harbor.
A fleet of eight black SUVs sat idling silently in the shadows of Warehouse 4. Inside the main office of the warehouse—a room with rusted corrugated metal walls and high industrial windows—Dominic stood surrounded by twelve of the most powerful capos and street bosses in New England.
On the wooden table in the center of the room lay structural blueprints of the Moretti central estate in Wellesley, along with private banking credentials and offshore wire logs that Dominic had pulled from his private encrypted server.
"Victor’s liquidity relies entirely on the primary vault at the Wellesley estate and the commercial lines through the Bank of Boston," Dominic explained, pointing a thick pen at the blueprints. "By 6:00 AM, our legal teams will file emergency freeze orders on all joint corporate accounts using the evidence of fraud I compiled over the last three years. But Victor won't wait for lawyers. He’ll try to move his cash reserves out of the state using Barrett transport trucks."
"He’s already doing it, Boss," Frank Greco reported, looking up from his satellite phone. "My guys at the Wellesley gates just reported two armored Barrett logistics vans leaving the property under heavy armed escort. They’re heading toward the private airfield in Bedford."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. "He’s trying to fly the cash out to the Bahamas."
Suddenly, the heavy metal door of the warehouse slammed open.
A young associate sprinted inside, his face pale with panic. "Boss! We’ve got company! Four black sedans just blocked the entrance to the pier! It’s Arthur Barrett's men... and Victor’s personal security team!"
Before anyone could react, the high glass windows near the roof of the warehouse shattered in a hail of automatic gunfire.
"Down!" Dominic roared, tackling Anthony Valenti to the floor as bullets tore through the wooden walls, splintering furniture and shattering light fixtures, plunging the room into chaotic, shadow-filled terror.
Gunfire echoed thunderously inside the metal structure. Dominic drew his Sig Sauer, rolling behind a heavy iron desk as wood splinters and glass rained down around them.
"They tracked my phone!" Frank shouted, ducking beneath a steel filing cabinet.
"They didn't track your phone, Frank," Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly calm amid the deafening gunfire. "My father knows every hideout in this city. He knew I’d come here first."
Dominic peeked over the top of the iron desk. Outside the shattered windows, through the swirling fog, eight armed men in tactical gear were advancing across the wet concrete pier, firing suppression rounds toward the warehouse doors. Leading them was Victor Moretti’s chief enforcer, a brutal six-foot-four killer named Nikolai.
"Take the side exit!" Dominic ordered his capos, firing three rapid shots through the window frame, dropping one of Nikolai’s shooters near a forklift. "Anthony, get the guys back to the cars! I’m stopping Nikolai!"
"Dominic, you can't fight them alone!" Anthony yelled above the noise of ricocheting bullets.
"I’m not alone!" Dominic yelled back, pulling a heavy tactical flashbang grenade from his coat—a piece of gear Marco had brought from the SUV. "Go! Now!"
Dominic pulled the pin on the flashbang and tossed it cleanly through the broken window frame, letting it bounce off the concrete floor outside.
A blinding white flash and a deafening, concussive BOOM ripped through the foggy morning air. The gunfire instantly ceased as Nikolai’s men staggered back, clutching their ears and shielding their eyes.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He burst through the warehouse side door like a tempest, his weapon raised, moving with the terrifying speed and lethal precision of a man who had survived a dozen street wars in his youth.
Three shots. Three targets down on the wet cobblestones.
Nikolai, still half-blinded by the flashbang, swung his assault rifle toward Dominic, but Dominic closed the distance instantly, grabbing the barrel of the rifle, forcing it upward as a burst of bullets tore harmlessly into the wooden roof above. Dominic slammed his elbow hard into Nikolai’s jaw, followed by a brutal knee to his ribcage, sending the massive enforcer crashing down onto the slick pier.
Dominic stood over him, pressing the hot barrel of his Sig Sauer directly against Nikolai’s forehead.
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The pier went deathly silent, save for the heavy panting of the surviving men and the sound of the ocean waves against the pilings.
"Tell my father," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register so cold it chilled the salt air, "that if he sends another shooter into my city, I won't just take his money. I will come to Wellesley and tear his house down brick by brick."
