Chapter 5 - Blood in the Harbors
The New Jersey shipping terminal was a sprawling labyrinth of rusted shipping containers, towering cranes, and oil-slicked asphalt bathed in the amber glow of industrial floodlights. A fine, freezing mist drifted off the dark waters of the Newark Bay, clinging to the heavy wool coats of Roman’s strike team as they moved through the shadows with military precision.
Roman stepped out of the lead black SUV, his face hard, his suit jacket buttoned tight. Behind him stepped Viktor and four heavily armed enforcers.
"How many?" Roman asked, his voice cutting through the damp wind.
"About twenty of Dante’s men," Viktor reported, checking the magazine of his submachine gun. "They hit warehouse four, thinking they’d find the paper trail of the Sterling acquisition. They didn't find the paperwork, but they torched two container loads of electronics before our night watchmen could push back."
Roman’s eyes narrowed into two slits of pure ice. "Dante thinks because I brought a civilian into my penthouse, my focus is divided. He thinks I've gone soft."
"Shall we wipe them out, boss?"
"No," Roman said softly, stepping past a stack of steel containers. "We remind them whose coast this is."
The confrontation inside warehouse four was swift and brutal. Dante’s enforcers had barricaded themselves behind crates of contraband, thinking they held the tactical high ground. They had underestimated the terrifying efficiency of the Duque syndicate. Within three minutes, the warehouse echoed with the dull thud of suppressed gunfire, the sound of splintering wood, and the groans of men hitting the concrete floor.
Roman walked into the center of the warehouse, his boots crunching on broken glass.
Two of Dante’s top lieutenants were pinned against a forklift by Viktor and his men, bleeding from minor flesh wounds, their faces pale with terror as they looked at the approaching mafia boss.
"Duque—wait—" one of them stammered, raising his hands. "Dante just wanted a piece of the Sterling debt! We didn't know you cared so much about a broken-down shipping family—"
Roman stopped inches away from them. He didn't raise his voice, but every word carried the weight of a death sentence.
"You didn't just touch my property," Roman said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "You interrupted my evening."
With a sudden, violent motion, Roman drew his sidearm and pistol-whipped the lead enforcer across the jaw, sending him crashing unconscious to the floor. He turned his cold, piercing gaze to the second man, who was shaking uncontrollably.
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"Go back to Dante," Roman instructed smoothly, holstering his weapon. "Tell him that the Sterling debt is settled, paid in full with his own blood if he ever looks toward my penthouse again. And tell him that if he so much as breathes the name Sky Sterling in public, I will burn his entire operation to ash before sunrise."
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