Chapter 8 - The Warehouse on the Docks
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The old shipyard was a sprawling graveyard of rusted cranes and decaying corrugated metal. The storm had intensified, the freezing rain masking the sound of Aleandro’s black SUV as it rolled to a stop two blocks away from the target location.
Aleandro and Marco stepped out into the pouring rain, pulling the hoods of their tactical jackets up. They moved through the shadows with lethal, practiced silence, communicating only through hand signals.
The textile warehouse loomed in the darkness, a massive, windowless concrete structure that looked entirely abandoned. But as they approached the side loading dock, a faint sliver of yellow light leaked from beneath a heavy steel door.
Marco held up two fingers. Two guards stationed outside, smoking under a rusted awning, trying to escape the rain.
Aleandro didn't hesitate. He drew his suppressed pistol, stepping fluidly out of the shadows.
Thwip. Thwip.
Two muffled shots pierced the sound of the rain. Both guards collapsed instantly, dead before their cigarettes even hit the wet pavement. Marco caught the bodies, lowering them silently to the ground so the thud wouldn't alert anyone inside.
"Clear," Marco whispered, checking the bodies for keys. He found a heavy iron ring and unlocked the steel door.
They slipped inside. The interior of the warehouse smelled of mold, old oil, and stagnant water. It was a cavernous space filled with rotting wooden crates and rusted machinery.
Aleandro’s eyes adjusted to the dim light. He moved with terrifying purpose, sweeping the corners with his weapon raised. Every instinct he possessed was screaming. Somewhere in this freezing, decaying hellhole, the quiet woman who had served his coffee was waiting to die.
They moved deeper into the building, navigating a maze of old shipping containers. Faint voices echoed from a small, enclosed office space near the back of the warehouse.
Aleandro pressed his back against the cold concrete wall beside the office door. He nodded to Marco.
Marco kicked the heavy wooden door open with a concussive boom.
Aleandro spun into the doorway, his weapon raised, expecting a firefight. But the room only contained one man—a low-level enforcer sitting in a folding chair, eating a sandwich.
The enforcer scrambled for his weapon, but Aleandro was faster. He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed the man by the throat, and slammed him brutally against the plaster wall.
"Where is she?" Aleandro hissed, pressing the hot barrel of his suppressor directly against the man's temple.
The enforcer choked, his eyes wide with absolute terror as he recognized the boss of the entire syndicate holding him.
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"Downstairs!" the man gasped, pointing a shaking finger toward a heavy metal grate on the floor. "In the old boiler room! I swear, I didn't touch her! Silvio ordered us just to watch her!"
Aleandro didn't show mercy. He slammed the butt of his pistol into the man’s skull, knocking him unconscious instantly. He turned his burning gaze toward the metal grate on the floor.
