Chapter 7 - The Ambush at Pawtucket
Twenty miles away, in the derelict, rusted expanse of the abandoned Pawtucket Ironworks, rain hammered relentless against the corrugated steel roof.
Jude Mercer stood in the center of the vast, empty factory floor, his hands resting casually in his coat pockets. The air smelled of old iron, stagnant water, and damp concrete. Beside him stood his chief lieutenant, Marco, clutching a silenced submachine gun beneath his heavy coat.
A fleet of four black SUVs pulled into the factory lot outside, their headlights cutting through the darkness, shining directly through the shattered windows of the building.
The heavy steel doors of the ironworks were kicked open, and fifteen armed men stepped into the space, led by a tall, sleek man in an expensive Italian suit. Beside him, cowering like a beaten dog, was Tristan.
"Jude Mercer," the sleek man called out, his voice echoing off the high steel rafters. "You came alone. I'm impressed. Or perhaps just arrogant."
"Mario Moretti," Jude said smoothly, his voice showing no trace of fear. "You brought a lot of firepower to Rhode Island for a man who claims he only came to collect a debt."
Mario Moretti chuckled, taking a step forward. "The debt was just business, Jude. But this..." He held up a thick, leather-bound book—the missing ledger. "...this is power. With this ledger, my family takes control of every harbor from Boston to New York. And you... you become a memory."
Tristan stepped up beside Mario, trying to look confident, though his trembling hands gave him away. "I told you I'd get it done, Mario! Now give me my cut! Give me my five million!"
Mario didn't even look at Tristan. He snapped his fingers, and one of his bodyguards shoved Tristan hard onto his knees in the dirt.
"Shut up, you idiot," Mario sneered. "You're a thief who betrayed his own boss and abandoned his family. You think I'm going to pay you five million dollars?"
Tristan’s face went white. "Wait... we had a deal! You promised me—"
"I promised you'd live to see tonight," Mario cut him off coldly. He raised his eyes back to Jude. "Any last words, Mercer? Before my men fill this place with lead?"
Jude pulled his left hand out of his pocket, looking at his wristwatch with supreme detachment. "You're three minutes late, Mario."
Mario frowned. "What?"
Suddenly, the shattered glass skylights above the factory floor exploded inward in a shower of sharp fragments.
Heavy ropes dropped through the roof as elite, tactical strike teams dressed in unmarked black gear rappelled down into the building. Simultaneously, heavy iron shutters slammed shut over the factory exits, trapping Mario's men inside.
Spotlights mounted on the rafters flickered on, blinding Mario and his thugs with ten thousand lumens of pure white light.
"Federal Agents! Drop your weapons!" a booming voice echoed over a megaphone from the catwalks above. "Drop your weapons immediately!"
Mario froze in absolute terror, his eyes wide. "What is this?! You called the Feds?!"
"I didn't call the Feds, Mario," Jude said, taking a slow, terrifying step toward the trapped mob boss as gunfire began to erupt across the perimeter as his own hidden snipers took out Moretti’s outer guard. "I gave the FBI a copy of the ledger three hours ago—specifically, the pages detailing your family's offshore accounts and human trafficking routes in Boston."
Mario screamed in rage, pulling his firearm, but Marco fired two rapid, silenced shots, striking Mario in the shoulder and knee, dropping him screaming to the concrete floor.
Tristan scrambled backward on his hands and knees, weeping hysterically as the tactical teams flooded the floor, tackling Moretti’s men to the ground.
Jude walked over to where Tristan lay grovelling in the dirt. He reached down, picking up the leather-bound ledger from the floor, wiping a smear of grease off its cover.
He looked down at Tristan with utter disgust.
"P-Please, Jude!" Tristan sobbed, clutching at Jude's trousers. "Don't kill me! I'm Clara's husband! I'm Brinley's father! You can't kill me!"
Jude kicked Tristan’s hands off his shoes. "You aren't a father, Tristan. You're a liability." Jude looked up at the FBI tactical commander approaching them. "Agent Miller. This is Tristan Reed. He’s wanted for grand larceny, extortion, and interstate racketeering. Take him."
"No! Clara! Clara, help me!" Tristan screamed as two federal agents dragged him away in handcuffs, his pathetic cries fading into the rainy night.
Jude closed the ledger, handing it to Agent Miller. "Our deal is done, Miller. Providence stays clean. Boston goes to prison."
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Agent Miller nodded grimly. "Get out of here, Mercer. Before I remember who you are."
Jude turned and walked out of the burning, chaotic factory, stepping into the cool rain, his mind focused entirely on a little girl and her mother waiting in a vault beneath his house.
