Chapter 10 - The Wrath of Duca
10 - 15
The black armored Mercedes-Maybach pulled up to the outer gates of Pier 9 with screeching tires, cutting through the perimeter fence as if it were made of paper. The rear door swung open before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop, and Alessandro Duca stepped out into the smoke-filled air of the docks.
He wore a tailored black overcoat, his dark hair ruffled slightly by the ocean breeze, and in his right hand, he carried a customized Sig Sauer P226 with a heavy suppressor attached. He looked less like a businessman and more like the angel of death descending upon sinners.
Marco met him at the perimeter command post, handing him an updated tactical overlay tablet.
"They’ve barricaded themselves in Sector C, Boss. They’re trying to blow our primary shipping records archive before backup arrives."
"They won't get the chance," Alessandro said coldly.
He didn't wait for an escort. He walked forward into the burning warehouse with measured, terrifyingly calm strides. Two of Moretti’s mercenaries rounded a stack of steel shipping containers, raising their rifles to fire.
Pffft. Pffft.
Two silenced shots flashed in the dim, smoky light. Both mercenaries dropped instantly, taking fatal hits to the chest before their fingers could even twitch on their triggers.
Alessandro stepped over the fallen bodies without breaking his stride.
Inside Sector C, the mercenary commander was frantically pouring gasoline around the perimeter of the records archive when the heavy steel door of the sector was kicked open with a thunderous crash.
The commander whipped around, leveling his assault rifle, but stopped dead in his tracks.
Standing in the doorway was Alessandro Duca, his pistol leveled squarely at the center of the commander's forehead.
"Tell Moretti," Alessandro said, his voice echoing with the absolute authority of a man who owned the very ground they stood on, "that when he sends a message to a Duca, he should deliver it himself. Because this is the last one he’ll ever send."
Bang.
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The single gunshot echoed across the docks, drowning out the crackle of the flames.
Within ten minutes, the remaining members of Moretti’s strike team had been completely neutralized, disarmed, and zip-tied in neat rows across the concrete apron of Pier 9. The fire was extinguished before it could reach the main archives, and the Duca logistics network remained entirely unbroken.
