Chapter 6 - The Hudson Pier
The rain over the Hudson River fell in thick, blinding sheets.
I sat in the passenger seat of an unmarked sedan parked two blocks from Pier 42, a tactical headset pressed against my ear.
Ricardo had ordered me to stay at the safehouse, but I had refused. If tonight was the night my past died, I needed to see it happen with my own eyes. He had compromised by allowing me to sit in a heavily armored vehicle guarded by six of his most elite men.
Through the headset, the audio feed from Ricardo’s wire was crystal clear.
“He’s inside the main warehouse,” Ricardo’s voice came through the static, cold and steady. “Victor has twelve armed men with automatic rifles. Strike team, move into position on the north perimeter.”
“Copy that, Don Moretti,” his capo replied.
I gripped my hands tightly in my lap, praying silently. Please come back to us. Please come back to Leo.
Suddenly, the audio feed erupted into a deafening roar of gunfire.
Shouts, shattering glass, and the heavy boom of shotguns echoed through the headset. I squeezed my eyes shut, my pulse racing as I listened to the war unfolding two blocks away.
“Flank left!” Ricardo’s voice barked over the gunfire. “Victor is heading toward the dock edge!”
Then, a sudden, sickening crunch of metal echoed through the line, followed by the harsh crackle of static.
“Ricardo?” I cried out into the radio transmitter. “Ricardo, do you copy?”
Silence.
“Don Moretti! Report!” the capo shouted over the frequency.
“His wire went down!” another guard yelled. “The east wall collapsed! Victor’s men used explosive charges!”
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. I didn't think about the protocol. I didn't think about the armored glass surrounding me.
Before the driver could stop me, I threw open the car door and sprinted out into the pouring rain, running straight toward the burning lights of Pier 42.
"Miss Clara! Stop! Come back!" the guards screamed behind me, their footsteps splashing through the deep puddles as they chased me.
I didn't stop. I ran through the rusted chain-link fence into the cavernous, smoke-filled interior of the warehouse.
The air smelled of acrid gunpowder, burning rubber, and seawater. Bodies lay scattered across the concrete floor among overturned shipping crates.
Through the haze of smoke near the edge of the pier, I saw them.
Ricardo was on his knees, his face bloodied, his black jacket torn. Standing over him, holding a heavy chrome revolver to Ricardo’s head, was Victor Vance.
Victor was bleeding from a wound in his shoulder, his eyes wild with psychotic triumph.
"It ends here, Moretti!" Victor screamed over the roaring wind of the river. "Your empire! Your legacy! Everything dies tonight!"
"RICARDO!" I shrieked.
Victor snapped his head toward the sound of my voice. A cruel, yellow-toothed smile stretched across his face as he saw me running through the smoke.
"Well, well," Victor sneered, shifting his revolver’s sight from Ricardo to my chest. "The little witness from Chicago. How fitting that you come to watch him die before I finish you off."
"Clara... NO! RUN!" Ricardo coughed, blood spitting from his lips as he tried to push himself up from the floor.
Victor pulled back the hammer of the revolver with a heavy click.
Time seemed to slow down to a crawl.
I looked at the man who had murdered a judge, ruined my life, and threatened the family I had come to love. I didn't see a terrifying mob boss anymore. I saw the obstacle standing between my family and freedom.
I didn't stop running.
Instead of ducking, I grabbed a heavy, rusted iron pipe lying on a wooden pallet beside me and swung it with every ounce of strength in my body.
CRACK!
The pipe slammed directly into Victor’s extended wrist.
He let out a blood-curdling scream as his wrist shattered, the revolver flying out of his hand and plunging into the dark, churning waters of the Hudson River below.
Before Victor could recover, Ricardo lunged upward like a rising leviathan.
He grabbed Victor by the throat, driving his shoulder into Victor’s chest, tackling him backward over the wooden safety railing of the pier.
They both crashed into the dark water thirty feet below.
"RICARDO!" I screamed, rushing to the edge of the pier, staring down into the pitch-black river.
The water churned wildly. Rain pelted the surface. Seconds felt like agonizing hours.
"Ricardo! Please! RICARDO!" I sobbed, sinking to my knees, pressing my hands against the wet wooden planks.
Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds.
Then, fifty yards down the riverbank, a heavy hand grabbed the rusted metal rung of a ladder.
A man dragged himself up out of the black water, coughing and gasping for air, collapsing onto the concrete dock.
It was Ricardo.
Behind him, floating face-down in the strong current of the river, swept out toward the open ocean, was the lifeless body of Victor Vance.
I scrambled down the dock stairs, throwing myself onto the wet concrete beside Ricardo. He rolled over, pulling me violently into his arms, burying his face in my wet hair as he breathed heavily.
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"I have you," he choked out, his body trembling with exhaustion and relief. "I have you, Clara. It's over. The snake is dead."
I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him tightly as the rain washed away the blood, the fear, and the dark ghost of five years of hiding.
