Chapter 8 - The Price of Treachery
The transition of the valley docks was supposed to take place at dawn, but Silvano Romano was not a man who accepted retirement gracefully.
By 5:30 AM, the rain had turned into a thick, grey fog that rolled off the river, reducing visibility to less than ten feet. Bella sat in the passenger seat of Vincent’s sports car, parked near the entrance of the valley shipping terminal. A team of ten Moretti enforcers stood behind the main chain-link gates, waiting for the Romano attorneys to deliver the signed transfer deeds.
"You shouldn't have come down here, Bella," Vincent said, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern against the steering wheel. "Silvano is a rat when he’s cornered. He knows he’s lost the company, which makes him dangerous."
"I needed to see it finished, Vincent," Bella said, looking out at the heavy fog. "Until these papers are signed, my brother isn't safe. My old neighbors aren't safe. I started this with the customs registration, and I’m going to see the end of it."
Vincent looked at her, a strange, intense expression softening his sharp jawline. "You’ve changed since that morning in the café, you know that? The girl who was crying over a split bag of oranges wouldn't have stood in a freezing warehouse at midnight and stared down Aldo Romano."
"I haven't changed, Vincent," Bella said softly, meeting his eyes. "I just found out that if you don't stand up for the people you care about, the city will kick you into the gutter like one of those oranges. I’m just... protecting my family."
Before Vincent could answer, a loud, mechanical roar shattered the quiet morning air.
Through the thick curtain of grey fog, a massive commercial flatbed truck appeared, its headlights high and blinding, its engine screaming as it accelerated down the straightaway toward the main terminal gates. It wasn't slowing down. It was moving at over fifty miles an hour, heading straight for the Moretti security vehicles parked across the entrance.
"Get down!" Vincent shouted, throwing his right arm across Bella’s chest and pushing her flat against the leather seat just as the world outside exploded into a violent cacophony of tearing metal and shattering glass.
The flatbed truck smashed through the chain-link gates, crushing the front half of the Moretti lead sedan like an aluminum can. Gunfire erupted instantly from the back of the truck—three men in tactical gear spraying the loading docks with automatic weapons.
Vincent kicked his door open, rolling out onto the wet asphalt with his pistol drawn before the car had even finished shaking from the impact shockwave. "Marco! Flank the left wall! Don't let them reach the office!"
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Bella crawled into the driver’s seat, her eyes wide as she looked through the cracked windshield. Through the fog, she saw a figure stepping out of the flatbed truck’s passenger cab. It was Silvano Romano himself, his face twisted into a mask of pure, suicidal rage, a heavy automatic rifle clutched in his hands as he walked straight toward the office trailer where the transfer deeds were resting on the desk.
He didn't care about the money anymore. He didn't care about the federal audit. He wanted to burn the Moretti family’s victory to the ground, even if he had to die in the ash.
