Chapter 6 - The Seizure of the Docks
At 6:00 a.m. the following morning, the sun rose over the Brooklyn docks like a dull copper coin through the gray river fog.
Three black SUVs tore through the chain-link gates of Pier 42, their tires screaming against the wet asphalt. Before the Maroni security guards could even raise their weapons, thirty Serrano soldiers jumped out, their submachine guns drawn, their faces covered in black tactical masks.
Marco stepped out of the lead vehicle, holding a megaphone. "Drop your weapons! By order of the Federal District Court and the Falcone Estate, this property has been seized! Any resistance will be treated as hostile!"
The Maroni guards, outnumbered and completely caught off guard, slowly raised their hands, dropping their pistols onto the ground.
From the second SUV, Dante Serrano stepped out. He was wearing his long leather coat, his expression expressionless as he scanned the massive shipping containers stacked around the pier.
Beside him, Clara Falcone stepped onto the gravel.
She was wearing a long, tailored black wool coat, her short hair slicked back, her violet eyes scanning the harbor with a fierce, aristocratic coldness. She held a leather folder containing the original deeds to the property—deeds that had been validated by the city registry just two hours prior under Dante’s immense political pressure.
A silver Mercedes came racing down the pier, stopping abruptly in front of Dante’s perimeter.
Silvio Maroni, the younger brother of the Maroni Don, stepped out. He was a small, rat-like man with expensive clothes and a face that was currently twisted with fury.
"Serrano!" Silvio yelled, his voice echoing over the water. "What the hell is the meaning of this? This is Maroni territory! You are violating the treaty!"
"The treaty died when you sent hitmen into my penthouse two nights ago, Silvio," Dante said, his voice calm as he took a step forward. "And this isn't my territory. I'm just the security detail."
He stepped aside, revealing Clara.
Silvio looked at her, his eyes squinting through the fog. He laughed—a nervous, high-pitched sound. "Who is this? Another one of your street girls, Dante? You brought a woman to a turf war?"
Clara walked forward, her boots clicking sharply against the concrete. She stopped five feet from Silvio, her face illuminated by the pale morning sun. She opened the folder, pulling out a copy of the deed, and tossed it onto the hood of his Mercedes.
"Look at the name on the title, Silvio," Clara said, her voice clear, cold, and carrying the unmistakable authority of her father’s voice.
Silvio glanced down at the paper. His smile vanished. His face went through a rapid succession of colors—white, gray, then a sickly green as his eyes locked onto the signature and the corporate seal.
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"Falcone..." he whispered, his head snapping up to look at her face. He stared at her violet eyes, at the sharp angle of her jaw, and at the small, pale brand visible at the base of her neck. "No. You’re dead. You died on the bridge."
"I survived the river, Silvio," Clara said, her voice dropping into a register that made the Maroni guards shift uncomfortably. "And now I’ve come back for my house. Tell your brother that the Serrano family and the Falcone family are unified. And by sunset, we are coming for the rest of his kingdom."
