Chapter 7 - The Trap at the Docks
The meeting was set for 11:00 PM at Pier 14—a massive, isolated shipping terminal on the frozen edge of the Detroit River.
The wind off the water was brutal, carrying ice particles that stung the skin like needles. Heavy shipping containers were stacked three stories high, creating a maze of dark, metal corridors illuminated only by flickering amber sodium lights.
Two black armoring SUVs pulled up to the center of the pier.
Nikolai Romanov stepped out of the lead vehicle. At forty-five, Nikolai was a mountain of a man, clad in a heavy wolf-skin coat, his face disfigured by a jagged scar stretching from his left eye to his jaw. Behind him stood twelve heavily armed Russian mercenaries carrying tactical shotguns and assault rifles.
From the opposite end of the pier, a single black Bentley came to a smooth stop.
Julian Blackwood stepped out alone. He wore his charcoal wool coat, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, walking toward the center of the pier with cool, unbothered grace.
Nikolai let out a rough, booming laugh that echoed off the metal containers.
"Julian Blackwood!" Nikolai barked in his thick Russian accent. "The great Devil of Detroit! You come to meet me alone? No army? No bodyguards?"
Julian stopped ten feet away. "I don't need an army to talk to a man who is living on borrowed time, Nikolai."
Nikolai’s smile vanished, his dark eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "You cost me forty million dollars, Blackwood. You destroyed my network with Peters. And now I hear you are hiding the waitress and her bastard children in your tower."
Julian didn't flinch. "Naomi Vance and her children are under my personal protection. If you so much as speak her name again, you will not leave this pier alive."
Nikolai sneered, reaching into his heavy coat and pulling out a satellite phone.
"You think you are so smart, Blackwood," Nikolai chuckled darkly, tapping the screen. "You thought I would meet you here to talk? While you are standing on this cold pier... six of my best operatives are entering your penthouse right now."
Julian stood completely still. He didn't panic. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply reached into his pocket, pulled out his own phone, and checked the time.
"It is 11:08 PM, Nikolai," Julian said quietly.
Nikolai frowned. "What?"
"Your six operatives entered the ground floor of Blackwood Tower at 11:02 PM," Julian revealed, his voice smooth as silk. "They were disarmed in the elevator at 11:04 PM. And at 11:06 PM, my security detail delivered them to the Federal Bureau of Investigation alongside your private offshore banking records."
Nikolai’s face went dead pale. He looked at his satellite phone—the screen was flashing red with an emergency signal from his Chicago headquarters.
"You... you knew?" Nikolai stammered, taking a step back.
Suddenly, the floodlights atop the surrounding shipping containers blasted on simultaneously, blinding Nikolai and his mercenaries in a dazzling wall of white light.
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!
Dozens of armed Blackwood security officers emerged from behind the containers, their weapons trained on Nikolai’s team from high elevated positions. Marcus stepped out from the shadows behind Nikolai, holding a heavy tactical rifle aimed directly at the Russian's spine.
"The Port of Detroit belongs to the Blackwood family, Nikolai," Julian said softly, stepping forward until he was inches from the terrified crime lord. "You made the fatal mistake of assuming I was defending my home. I was simply waiting for you to walk onto my chessboard."
Julian leaned down, his gray eyes burning with cold, absolute authority.
"You have ten minutes to get on your jet and return to Chicago," Julian growled softly. "If you or any of your syndicate ever cross the Michigan border again... I will burn your family out of Illinois."
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Nikolai swallowed hard, his knees trembling under his wolf-skin coat. He slowly raised his hands, signaling his men to drop their weapons.
"We are leaving," Nikolai whispered, his voice cracking with terror. "We are leaving tonight."
