Chapter 9 - The Ambush at the Navy Yard
At 3:15 AM, the storm over the Brooklyn Navy Yard reached its peak.
Dominic and six heavily armed Moretti hitmen stepped out of two black vans, moving quietly toward the rear entrance of the DeLuca logistics facility near Pier 42.
"The girl’s car is parked near the main office," Dominic whispered, pulling a suppressed pistol from his shoulder holster. "Fast and clean. In and out in three minutes."
The hitmen kicked open the side door, flooding into the dark, echoing warehouse with their weapons raised.
The warehouse was pitch black, silent, and smelled of salt water and fresh industrial oil.
"Search the office!" Dominic ordered, gesturing toward the glass-walled mezzanine above the main floor.
Suddenly, massive overhead halogen floodlights flickered on, blinding the hitmen in a dazzling, white wall of light.
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!
"FEDERAL AGENTS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS! DO IT NOW!"
Dozens of heavily armored FBI SWAT officers poured out from behind shipping containers, their assault rifles aimed squarely at Dominic’s chest.
Dominic panicked, raising his pistol—
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
A brief, violent burst of gunfire echoed through the high steel rafters. Two Moretti hitmen hit the concrete floor, their weapons clattering away, while Dominic was tackled to the ground by four SWAT officers, his arms pinned ruthlessly behind his back.
From the glass-walled mezzanine above, Cassidy stepped out onto the iron walkway.
She wore her sharp navy blazer, her hands tucked comfortably into her pockets, looking down at the captured hitmen with total composure.
Beside her, Alessandro stood leaning against the iron railing, smoking a thin cigar, watching the FBI secure the scene.
"Dominic," Cassidy called down, her clear voice ringing across the silent warehouse. "You should have checked the property registry before coming here tonight. DeLuca Enterprises sold this warehouse to the Federal Bureau of Investigation forty-eight hours ago. You didn't break into a shipping facility... you broke into a federal staging site."
Dominic spat blood onto the concrete, glaring up at her with pure, unadulterated hatred. "You crazy bitch... Moretti will kill you for this!"
"Moretti won't be killing anyone, Dominic," Alessandro interjected smoothly, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke into the chilly air. "Because while you were walking into this trap... the State Police were raiding his estate in Long Island."
At that exact moment, five miles away in Long Island, armored vehicles breached the iron gates of Salvatore Moretti’s mansion.
Federal agents flooded his master bedroom, pulling Moretti out of bed in his silk pajamas, slapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists as they presented him with a two-hundred-page federal indictment for racketeering, murder, and financial fraud—an indictment authored almost entirely by Cassidy Miller.
The Moretti empire, built on thirty years of blood, intimidation, and stolen fortunes, had been dismantled in less than two weeks.
May you like
Not by a rival mob’s bullets.
By a twenty-six-year-old girl with a silver coffee pot and an eye for wrong numbers.
