Chapter 9 - The Meeting at the Docks
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The old warehouse on 4th Street smelled of salt, rust, and damp concrete. Rain hammered against the corrugated metal roof, echoing like distant drumbeats.
Matteo stood in the center of the massive, empty floor, his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket.
The heavy iron door groaned open, and Dante stepped inside. He was a massive man, built like a brick wall, with silver hair and a face heavily scarred from decades of gang wars. He carried a heavy duffel bag over his shoulder.
When Dante saw Matteo, he stopped dead in his tracks. The big man dropped the bag, the heavy metal weapons inside clanging against the floor.
“I'll be damned,” Dante whispered, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He walked forward and pulled Matteo into a bone-crushing embrace. “You son of a bitch. Three years. We mourned you.”
“I had to disappear, old friend,” Matteo said, clapping Dante on the back. “If the families knew I was alive, there would have been a target on my back forever. I wanted a quiet life.”
“Quiet doesn't suit you, Boss,” Dante grunted, stepping back to look at him. “And Victor made sure quiet is off the menu. He’s a rabid dog. He’s buying off the port authority, taxing the unions, and killing anyone who pushes back. He thinks he’s the new king.”
“He threatened my wife, Dante,” Matteo said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “He sent men to put their hands on her.”
Dante’s expression instantly darkened. He walked over to the duffel bag and unzipped it. Inside were a dozen high-powered firearms, tactical vests, and boxes of ammunition.
“Then we don't just kill him,” Dante growled, tossing a heavy assault rifle to Matteo. “We burn his entire kingdom to the ground. But we need numbers, Matteo. It’s just the two of us. Victor has fifty men on his payroll.”
Matteo caught the rifle effortlessly, checking the sight. “We don't need fifty men to kill a snake, Dante. We just need to cut off the head. Where does Victor sleep?”
Before Dante could answer, Matteo’s burner phone vibrated. He pulled it out. It was a text message from an unknown number.
“I have the diner owner. If you want him to keep breathing, come to the abandoned railyard at midnight. Come alone.”
May you like
Matteo stared at the screen, a cold fury rising in his chest. Victor had taken Jimmy.
“Change of plans,” Matteo said, loading a magazine into the rifle. “We’re going to a railyard.”
