Chapter 3 - The Traitor at Pier Nineteen
The service tunnel smelled of rust, river water, and decades of neglect.
Dominic led the first team. Vincent followed despite his injured leg, and I stayed behind him carrying a tool bag taken from the abandoned kitchen.
Vincent glanced back.
“What exactly is your plan?”
“I’m going to shut off the warehouse’s main ventilation system.”
“And then?”
“Then we fill the building with smoke.”
“From what?”
“Flour.”
He stopped.
“Flour?”
“Fine particles suspended in the air can obscure vision and irritate the lungs. We’re not causing another explosion,” I added quickly. “We’ll use damp flour so it won’t ignite.”
Dominic looked over his shoulder. “You carry damp flour often?”
“I used to compete in industrial baking challenges.”
Vincent stared at him. “Don’t ask.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“The ventilation shaft opens above the warehouse floor,” I explained. “We release the mixture, their visibility collapses, and your people enter using masks.”
“Where do we get enough flour?”
I unzipped the tool bag.
Inside were eight industrial bags taken from the abandoned kitchen’s sealed storage room.
Dominic blinked. “Those are thirty years old.”
“Flour doesn’t become more dangerous with age. Only more disgusting.”
A voice echoed from the tunnel behind us.
“You won’t need it.”
Everyone turned.
One of Vincent’s men stood at the ladder entrance, gun aimed directly at Dominic.
His name was Anthony Lupo. I remembered him from Costello Imports. He had been one of the four men Vincent ordered detained.
Vincent’s expression went cold.
“Anthony.”
“Put the weapons down.”
Dominic slowly raised his hands. “How did you get out?”
“The guard outside my room worked for me.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened. “You gave Rourke my route.”
“I gave him everything.”
“Why?”
Anthony laughed bitterly.
“Because I spent eighteen years doing what your family asked. I collected debts. Buried enemies. Watched you become king while men like me stayed servants.”
“You were paid more than most executives.”
“I didn’t want money. I wanted respect.”
“Then you chose the wrong way to earn it.”
Anthony’s gun shifted toward Vincent.
“You were supposed to die in that alley. Rourke promised me your territory.”
“Rourke promises everyone something.”
“He promised Elena would live.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened. “You helped him take my sister?”
“She was never meant to get hurt.”
“You gave a trafficker access to her home.”
Anthony hesitated.
That hesitation told Vincent everything.
“You don’t know where she’ll end up,” Vincent said.
“Rourke said—”
“Rourke sells people, Anthony.”
“He’s not going to sell Elena.”
“Why? Because you asked politely?”
Anthony’s face changed.
Vincent stepped closer despite the gun.
“You wanted my chair so badly that you handed my sister to men who put price tags on human beings.”
“Stay back.”
“You didn’t betray me because you lacked respect. You betrayed everyone because you lacked a spine.”
Anthony’s hand trembled.
I moved slowly toward the tunnel wall.
His gun swung toward me. “Don’t.”
“I’m just putting down the bag.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Vincent looked at me, then at the corroded pipe beside my shoulder.
He understood.
I lifted the heavy bag and slammed it into the pipe.
The rusted joint burst.
A violent blast of cold water struck Anthony in the face.
Dominic lunged.
The gun fired, the bullet striking the ceiling.
Vincent knocked Anthony’s wrist aside while Dominic drove him into the tunnel wall.
The gun fell into the water.
Anthony struggled until Dominic pinned him.
Vincent stood over him.
“Where is Elena?”
“Inside the main office.”
“How many men?”
“Twenty-three. Maybe twenty-five.”
“Explosives?”
Anthony swallowed. “Rourke wired the east supports. If police arrive, he’ll bring down half the building.”
“And the evidence?”
“He thinks you brought the original ledger.”
Vincent crouched.
“Did he give you the name of his federal contact?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Vincent pressed his thumb into a nerve near Anthony’s shoulder.
Anthony cried out.
“Name.”
“Assistant Director Halpern!”
Dominic’s face darkened. “FBI?”
“He’s been protecting Rourke’s shipments.”
Vincent released him.
“Take Anthony outside,” he ordered. “Make sure he doesn’t disappear.”
Anthony stared up at him. “You’re letting me live?”
“For now.”
“You used to kill traitors.”
“I used to believe fear could fix men like you.”
Vincent looked toward the warehouse.
“I was wrong.”
Two guards dragged Anthony away.
We reached the ventilation chamber beneath the warehouse. The ducts were larger than I expected, but the fan system still had power.
I opened the control panel.
Vincent watched me trace the wiring.
“You’ve done this before?”
“I repair my own ovens.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Electricity doesn’t care what the machine cooks.”
I disconnected the intake regulator and redirected the lowest fan.
Dominic’s men opened the flour bags and mixed the contents with water from the broken pipe.
Vincent crouched beside me.
“Once the smoke begins, you return through the tunnel.”
“You need someone to control the fans.”
“We can leave a man here.”
“A man who understands industrial airflow?”
He looked at Dominic.
Dominic shook his head. “I understand guns.”
“See?” I said.
Vincent leaned closer. “Rosa, I cannot fight Rourke while wondering whether you’re safe.”
The intensity in his voice caught me off guard.
“We met two hours ago.”
“Two hours can be enough.”
“For what?”
His eyes held mine.
“For someone to matter.”
The fan roared to life before I could answer.
Thick white vapor surged through the ductwork.
Shouting erupted above us.
Vincent pulled a mask over his face.
“Stay here.”
He climbed the access ladder with Dominic.
I watched them disappear.
Gunfire began almost immediately.
Through the duct grate, I saw men stumbling through the white haze. Dominic’s teams moved between shipping crates, using the confusion to disarm Rourke’s guards.
Vincent advanced toward the main office.
Rourke’s voice came over the warehouse speakers.
“You should’ve died in the alley!”
Vincent took cover as bullets tore through a wooden crate.
“You brought twelve men,” Vincent shouted back. “Apparently, you needed thirteen.”
“I brought enough to destroy your empire.”
“You never understood my empire.”
“I understood it better than you. You had half the city terrified, then you started pretending to be honorable.”
“Keeping children off auction blocks isn’t honor. It’s the minimum required to remain human.”
Rourke laughed.
“That bakery woman softened you.”
“No,” Vincent answered. “She reminded me what courage looks like.”
I tried not to react.
A warning light appeared on the control panel.
The fan pressure was rising too quickly.
I adjusted the valve, but nothing happened.
Someone had closed the upper vents.
If the pressure continued building, the duct could rupture and send metal fragments across the warehouse.
I shut off the motor.
The white haze began thinning.
Vincent’s voice came over Dominic’s radio.
“What happened to the smoke?”
“We have a pressure blockage,” I replied. “Someone sealed the exhaust vents.”
“Can you reopen them?”
“Not from here.”
“Then leave.”
“I can reach them from the roof.”
“No.”
“The haze will clear in less than two minutes.”
“Rosa, do not go onto that roof.”
I grabbed the wrench and climbed the service ladder.
“Your signal is breaking up.”
“My signal is perfectly clear.”
“Terrible reception down here.”
“Rosa.”
I switched off the radio.
The ladder opened into a narrow corridor along the side of the warehouse. I slipped through a maintenance door and reached an exterior staircase.
Rain struck me as I climbed to the roof.
Three armed guards had been stationed there, but two were now unconscious near the stairwell. The third was crouched beside a sealed ventilation cap.
He saw me.
“You.”
I recognized him from the alley.
He raised his gun.
I threw the wrench.
It struck his forearm, sending the weapon skidding across the roof.
He charged.
I ducked his first punch and drove my shoulder into his stomach. He was stronger than I was, but he had never carried fifty-pound sacks of flour up three flights of stairs before sunrise.
I grabbed his wrist, twisted it behind his back, and forced him face-first onto the wet roof.
“Sweetheart,” I whispered, “go back inside.”
I used his belt to bind his hands.
Then I opened the exhaust cap.
White vapor burst into the rainy air.
The radio crackled.
“Rosa!”
I turned it on.
“I’m fine.”
“Where are you?”
“Roof.”
A long silence followed.
“When this is over,” Vincent said, “we’re going to discuss your definition of staying behind.”
Gunfire erupted beneath me.
Then Elena screamed.
I ran toward the skylight.
Through the glass, I saw Rourke dragging a dark-haired woman onto the upper catwalk. One arm locked around her throat while his pistol pressed against her head.
Vincent stood below with his weapon raised.
“Drop it!” Rourke shouted.
Vincent obeyed.
The gun clattered onto the concrete.
Rourke smiled.
“You should’ve stayed in the alley.”
He forced Elena toward the edge.
I searched the rooftop.
A steel chain controlled the skylight’s opening mechanism.
I grabbed it and pulled.
The glass panels separated directly above Rourke.
He looked up.
I dropped through.
My feet struck his shoulders.
All three of us crashed onto the catwalk.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
Elena rolled away.
Rourke hit me across the face, then wrapped both hands around my throat.
“You stupid baker!”
Before he could tighten his grip, Vincent reached the catwalk.
He pulled Rourke away and drove him into the railing.
Rourke drew a knife.
Vincent caught his wrist, but his injured leg gave way.
They fell against the edge.
The damaged railing snapped.
Rourke grabbed Vincent’s jacket as both men slid toward the river below.
I caught Vincent’s hand.
Elena grabbed my waist.
Rourke hung from Vincent’s other arm, his feet kicking above the darkness.
“Pull me up!” he screamed.
Vincent looked down at him.
“You tried to murder my sister.”
“I can give you Halpern!”
“We already have his name.”
“I know everything!”
Vincent did not release him.
Instead, he tightened his grip.
“You’re going to stand trial,” he said. “Every family you destroyed will hear you admit what you did.”
Dominic and two men hauled Vincent and Rourke onto the catwalk.
Rourke lay gasping on the floor.
Federal sirens sounded in the distance.
Dominic looked at Vincent. “Halpern’s people?”
“No,” Elena said, holding up Rourke’s phone. “I called the prosecutor Vincent was supposed to meet. She’s bringing her own tactical team.”
Vincent looked at his sister.
“You had his phone?”
“He kept it in his pocket while holding me hostage.”
Rourke glared at her.
Elena smiled sweetly. “You should invest in deeper pockets.”
Vincent turned toward me.
Blood ran from a cut near his eyebrow. His face was exhausted, but his eyes held something warmer than relief.
“You jumped through a skylight.”
“You were losing.”
“I had the situation under control.”
“You were hanging over a river.”
“Temporarily.”
Elena looked between us.
“Who is she?”
Vincent did not look away from me.
“Her name is Rosa Russo.”
May you like
“The baker?” Elena asked.
“The baker,” he confirmed.
