Chapter 5 - THE DEADLINE
I stared at the photograph of the little boy.
His face was pale, his small hands clutching the edges of a seatbelt in the dark van.
“Who is Leo?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Dominic’s breathing shifted. The calm, calculating mafia boss vanished. In his place stood a man radiating a terrifying, barely contained violence.
“He is my nephew,” Dominic said, his voice grating like stone against steel. “My brother died five years ago. I raise Leo. He’s the only family I have left.”
I looked at the screen again. The timestamp on the photo was from three minutes ago.
Answer One: Liam wasn't just relying on my ignorance to secure the port. He had taken a hostage to force Dominic to deliver me to the terminal if I tried to run.
Open Two: How did Liam get past Dominic’s security to take Leo? And how could we possibly stop the transfer if Liam held the ultimate leverage?
“Liam is a dead man,” Dominic promised the empty tunnel. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, wincing slightly as his wounded arm brushed his side. “I’m calling my men. We’re going to burn Brooklyn to the ground.”
“No,” I said sharply.
Dominic turned on me, his eyes blazing. “Excuse me?”
“If you send an army to Pier 42, Liam will panic,” I reasoned, stepping in front of him. “He’s working with the Morettis. They have snipers, muscle, and tactical superiority at the docks. If bullets start flying, Leo gets caught in the crossfire.”
“I am not negotiating with the man who took my son,” Dominic snarled, the word slipping out naturally. Son.
“We aren't going to negotiate,” I said, clutching my father’s briefcase. “We’re going to out-logistics him.”
Dominic stared at me, the fury in his eyes warring with his strategic mind. “How?”
“Liam needs my signature to finalize the escrow release,” I explained, the mechanics of the freight world anchoring my panic. “But he doesn't know that I know the system. In New York, commercial port transfers require dual authentication. A physical signature at the terminal, and a digital notary approval from the representing law firm.”
I opened the briefcase and pulled out the legal documents Liam had handed me at the hotel.
I shone my phone’s flashlight onto the second page.
“Look at the notary seal on the bottom of the registration,” I pointed to the faint blue stamp. “Liam didn't file this himself. He used a proxy firm.”
Dominic leaned in, reading the name on the stamp.
His jaw locked.
“Marcus,” Dominic whispered.
I frowned. “Who is Marcus?”
“Marcus is my chief legal counsel,” Dominic said, the betrayal heavy in his voice. “The man who was driving my car tonight. The man who dropped us off at Penn Station.”
Reversal: The traitor wasn't just Liam. Dominic’s most trusted advisor, the lawyer who handled all his legitimate businesses, was the inside man facilitating the takeover.
“Marcus knew we were coming to the station,” I realized, the pieces snapping together. “He tipped off the Moretti sniper. He’s the one who gave Liam access to Leo.”
“Marcus has a private office in the meatpacking district,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a lethal calm. “It’s five minutes from here. He has to authorize the digital release from his secure terminal before midnight, or the escrow bounces the five million back to my accounts.”
I checked my phone. It was 10:45 PM.
“If we stop Marcus from authorizing the digital release, Liam can’t buy the pier, even if he forces me to sign the physical papers,” I said.
“We don't just stop him,” Dominic said, pulling his jacket back on over his bandaged arm. “We use him to find out exactly where on Pier 42 they are holding Leo.”
We climbed the rusted ladder and emerged onto a quiet, rain-swept side street. We moved quickly, sticking to the shadows of the old brick buildings.
My feet were numb, my ruined dress clinging to my legs, but I felt a strange sense of clarity. Liam had taken my father. He had stolen my future. But he had made a fatal error. He thought I was just a naive bride. He didn't realize he had trained me to be his undoing.
We reached a sleek, modern glass building in the meatpacking district. Marcus’s firm occupied the top floor.
Dominic bypassed the front doors, leading me down a narrow alley to a reinforced steel security door. He punched a sequence into the keypad.
“He works for me,” Dominic muttered as the light turned green. “I own the building.”
We took the service elevator to the top floor. The office was dark, save for the glow of a single desk lamp shining from the corner corner executive suite.
Dominic drew his weapon. He motioned for me to stay behind the receptionist’s desk.
I crouched behind the marble counter, watching as Dominic moved silently across the carpeted floor toward the glowing doorway.
He didn't announce himself. He simply stepped into the doorway, raising his gun.
I held my breath, waiting for the shout.
But instead of a confrontation, Dominic slowly lowered his weapon.
“Chloe,” Dominic called out, his voice echoing strangely in the quiet office. “Come here.”
I stood up and hurried across the room, stepping into the executive suite.
Marcus was sitting at his massive mahogany desk.
But he wasn't typing on a computer.
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He was slumped forward, his head resting on the keyboard. A pool of dark blood was spreading across the polished wood, dripping steadily onto the carpet.
Marcus was dead.
