Chapter 7 - The Battle for the Depot
The old coal depot on the northern ridge of Cedar Hollow was a rusted skeleton of iron beams, abandoned train cars, and crumbling concrete silos. Snow fell heavily through the collapsed roof, covering the rusted tracks in a thick white blanket.
At 5:45 AM, eight black SUVs ground to a halt outside the main gates of the depot, their headlights cutting bright white beams through the swirling snow.
Doors slammed open. Twenty heavily armed mercenaries stepped out, wearing winter camouflage and carrying tactical rifles, forming a protective perimeter around the center vehicle.
The rear door of the main SUV opened, and Gino Castellano stepped out onto the snow. He wore a heavy mink-lined coat, leather gloves, and carried a gold-tipped cane. Beside him stood Marcus Vance, looking nervous, clutching a thick leather briefcase.
"Is the area secure, Vance?" Gino asked, stepping through the snow toward the dark interior of the depot.
"Yes, Boss," Vance stammered, pulling his collar up against the freezing wind. "My scouts cleared the depot an hour ago. The local sheriff has been paid off to block the roads into town. Nobody gets in or out."
Gino smiled, walking into the vast, echoing cavern of the abandoned train barn. "Good. My nephew thinks he’s a romantic hero. He wants to play the guardian angel. He doesn't realize that angels die hungry."
"Looking for me, Uncle?"
A deep, commanding voice echoed from the steel rafters above.
Gino froze. The mercenaries instantly raised their rifles, sweeping their tactical lights across the dark upper walkways.
Standing on an iron platform twenty feet above the ground, framed by the falling snow and the rising dawn, stood Rocco. He wore no armor, held no weapon in his hands. He stood tall, broad, and calm, looking down at his uncle like a judge surveying a convict.
Gino looked up, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "Rocco! You actually came alone! I must admit, I expected more from my prize pupil. Did you really think you could stop an army with a speech?"
"I didn't come alone, Gino," Rocco said calmly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Gino laughed, motioning to his mercenaries. "Kill him. Leave the body on the tracks."
Not a single soldier moved.
Gino’s smile faltered. He looked around, his voice rising in irritation. "I said, kill him!"
The commander of the mercenary team—a scarred veteran named Captain Miller—slowly lowered his rifle. He stepped away from Gino, taking a position beside the iron staircase leading up to Rocco’s platform.
"Sorry, Mr. Castellano," Captain Miller said, his voice cold and devoid of passion. "Mr. Vance hired us with your money, but Mr. Castellano paid off our offshore pensions five years ago. We don't shoot the man who feeds our families."
Marcus Vance gasped, dropping his briefcase into the snow. "What?! You traitorous bastards!"
Gino’s face turned from pale to an ugly, mottled red. He reached into his mink coat, drawing a snub-nosed revolver, but before he could raise it, a sharp whistle echoed through the depot.
From behind the abandoned train cars, thirty men stepped out of the shadows. They weren't mercenaries—they were the dockworkers from Baltimore, the union men from Philadelphia, and the loyal lieutenants from Boston whom Rocco had called three hours ago. They were armed, trained, and their eyes were fixed on Gino with utter hatred.
"You built an empire on fear, Gino," Rocco said, stepping slowly down the iron staircase, his boots clicking heavily on the steel steps. "You thought men obeyed you because they respected you. But fear expires the moment a stronger man stands up."
Gino backed away toward his SUV, his eyes darting frantically around the enclosed depot. "Rocco... listen to me! We're family! You're my blood! We can share the territory! I'll give you West Virginia!"
Rocco reached the bottom step and walked toward his uncle, stopping five feet away. The freezing wind whipped his dark hair across his forehead.
"You gave the order to kill Samuel Miller thirty years ago," Rocco said, his voice dropping into a cold, terrifying whisper. "You tried to burn his infant daughter alive. And yesterday, you threatened to destroy this entire valley."
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"They are nobodies!" Gino screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria. "They are peasants in a dying town!"
"They are human beings, Gino," Rocco said, reaching out and taking the revolver from his uncle’s trembling fingers, disarming him with effortless ease. "Something you stopped being a long time ago."
