Chapter 8 - The Siege of Port Newark
The rain poured in violent torrents over the dark, metallic expanse of Port Newark.
Inside the four-story glass control tower overlooking the shipping docks, Victor Vance stood with a cigar between his teeth, watching his twelve heavily armed Chicago enforcers guard ten bound Moretti crew members.
“Ten minutes left, boys,” Victor chuckled, flicking his cigar ash onto the floor. “Let’s see if the great Vincent Moretti shows up to save his little sailors.”
Suddenly, every light in the control tower went out.
CRASH!
The massive glass windows on the fourth floor exploded inward in a shower of deadly shards.
Through the rain and broken glass, six dark figures descended on tactical ropes from a stealth helicopter hovering silently above the fog.
Before the Chicago enforcers could raise their weapons, a hail of suppressed gunfire tore through the room.
THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!
Eight Iron Circle gunmen dropped to the floor instantly, dead before they hit the concrete.
Victor Vance panicked, dropping his cigar, reaching for his pistol—but a massive, heavy hand grabbed his wrist, twisting it back until the bone snapped with a sickening CRACK!
Victor shrieked in agony, falling to his knees.
Standing over him in full black tactical gear, his silver eyes glowing like death in the dark, was Vincent Moretti.
Vincent didn't say a word. He drove a heavy combat boot into Victor’s chest, pinning him to the floor, while Marco and his men quickly cut the ropes binding the ten Moretti crew members.
“Moretti... please!” Victor choked out, blood leaking from his mouth. “We can share the ports! Chicago will pay you twenty million—”
“You threatened my crew,” Vincent whispered, his voice dark, smooth, and absolute. “You disturbed my home.”
Vincent pulled a combat knife from his tactical vest.
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“Tell Chicago,” Vincent growled, leaning down close to Victor’s ear, “that the East Coast belongs to the Moretti family. Forever.”
Ten minutes later, the control tower was cleared. The hostages were freed without a single Moretti loss. The Iron Circle’s presence in New York was completely erased in a single hour of surgical, terrifying precision.
