Chapter 6 - The Trap is Set
The rain had stopped by dawn, leaving the Manhattan skyline washed in a pale, steel-gray morning light.
Inside the command center of Dominic’s penthouse, the large digital map of the city was dotted with red and blue markers. Every marker represented a key node in Viktor Vance and Constantine Volkov’s criminal network: shell corporations, untraceable bank accounts, waterfront warehouses, and bribe-funded politicians.
"We have them completely cornered," Marcus announced, walking over to the desk with a tablet displaying real-time satellite imagery of the Brooklyn Navy Yard. "Vance doesn't know that his master ledger has been fully decrypted. He thinks Constantine is still handling the fallout from last night at The Sterling."
Dominic stood beside the desk, his arms crossed over his chest, his obsidian eyes fixed on the map. He turned his head slightly to look at me. I had changed out of my waitress uniform into a sleek, dark tactical jumpsuit provided by Dominic’s team. My blonde hair was tied back in a tight, efficient ponytail. The terrified girl from The Sterling was completely gone.
"Amelia," Dominic said, his voice calm yet commanding. "Vance is scheduled to meet with three corrupt port directors at Pier 42 in the Brooklyn Navy Yard at noon today to authorize the final transfer of maritime shipping rights. That meeting is where we strike."
"I'm coming with you," I said immediately, leaving no room for argument.
Dominic studied my face for a long moment, searching for hesitation. Finding none, he gave a slow, decisive nod. "All right. You translated the book; you earned the right to face the man who destroyed your family. But you stay close to Marcus and my security detail at all times."
"Understood," I replied, slipping a compact encrypted tablet into my vest pocket—the device containing every translated file, bank routing number, and piece of blackmail evidence we had extracted from the journal.
Within the hour, a convoy of three unmarked tactical vehicles rolled out of the subterranean garage, blending seamlessly into the morning rush hour traffic heading toward the East River bridges.
The Brooklyn Navy Yard was a massive, sprawling labyrinth of rusted iron cranes, cavernous shipping warehouses, and deep-water docks where towering container ships unloaded cargo from all over the world. Pier 42 was located at the far eastern edge of the complex, isolated and heavily guarded by private security mercenaries loyal to Vance.
Our convoy pulled into the abandoned lumber yard two blocks away from Pier 42.
Marcus killed the engine, and the tactical team began silently checking their gear—suppressed carbines, tactical radios, and breaching tools.
"The perimeter is secure," Marcus whispered into his radio mouthpiece, looking back at Dominic and me in the middle row. "Vance’s men are stationed at the main entrance of Warehouse B. There are roughly ten armed guards inside, plus Vance and the port directors."
Dominic pulled back the slide of his SIG Sauer, checking the chamber with a crisp, metallic click. He looked over at me, his expression uncharacteristically serious.
"Stay behind the primary assault team until we secure the inner office," Dominic instructed firmly. "Once Vance is restrained, the journal and the digital files do the rest."
I nodded, gripping the strap of my tactical vest. My heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and anticipation. Twelve years of hiding, running, and struggling were about to come to an absolute end.
May you like
"Move out," Dominic commanded.
The team slipped out of the vehicles like shadows, moving with terrifying efficiency across the wet asphalt toward the corrugated metal walls of Warehouse B.
