Chapter 4 - The Zinc Deception
Inside the cavernous ruin of the cannery, the air was thick with the smell of wet iron, decay, and stagnant seawater. Rain drummed against the sheet-metal roof like thousands of falling shell casings.
Elena climbed the rusted steel ladder toward the overhead crane platform. Every rung sent a wave of agony through her lower back. The Braxton Hicks contractions that had begun during her argument with Dante had deepened into something far more rhythmic and threatening. She leaned against a rusted stanchion, panting, wiping sweat and blood from her eyes.
Her mind raced back to the manifest she had confronted Dante with.
The shipment wasn't zinc. Zinc didn't require climate-controlled manifests with secondary hydraulic seal overrides. When she had designed the port’s inventory software five years ago, that specific code sequence was reserved for explosive precursors and heavy armaments.
Bianca hadn't just been having an affair; she had been using Moretti commercial permits to smuggle military-grade hardware for the Falcone clan. And she had staged the Harborview receipts to ensure Elena would find them, confront Dante, and force an emotional rupture that would drive her out onto the unguarded highway.
Dante hadn't been sleeping with Bianca. He had been covering up the discrepancy because he thought *his own late brother* had been the traitor who signed the original contracts before he died. He was protecting a ghost’s reputation at the expense of his living wife.
"Fool," Elena whispered through her teeth, not knowing whether she meant Dante or herself. "You arrogant, blind fool."
Below her, the cannery doors were kicked open. Three men stepped in, their assault rifles raised, sweeping the rafters with tactical weapon lights.
"Check the floorboards! She’s six months pregnant, she couldn't have gotten far!"
Elena held her breath. She pulled her coat tightly around her belly, pressing her spine flat against the rusted iron beam. In her pocket, her hand closed around her father’s heavy brass rigging knife, which she had grabbed from the glovebox before running.
Suddenly, tires screeched outside.
A high-caliber rifle shot cracked through the gale, shattering the cannery’s front windows into thousands of glittering shards. One of the gunmen on the floor dropped instantly, his chest punched through by a heavy round.
"Ambush!" the remaining hitmen yelled, diving behind overturned brine vats.
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Through the shattered doors, a black Mercedes plowed through the barricade, its headlights blinding the interior. Dante Moretti stepped out into the crossfire, wearing no coat, armed with a semi-automatic tactical shotgun, his eyes burning with the wrath of an emperor whose world had been set on fire.
***
