Chapter 4 - The Betrayal at the Docks
The peace didn't last.
At 10:30 PM, while the birthday gala was in full swing inside the main mansion ballroom, Marco approached Vincent in the shadows of the outdoor terrace, leaning in to whisper in his ear.
Maggie, who was sitting near the conservatory taking a breath of cool night air, saw the immediate shift in Vincent’s posture. The warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by the lethal, calculating focus of the Don.
Vincent walked over to where Maggie was standing.
“I have to leave,” Vincent said softly, taking her hands. “An urgent issue at Pier 14.”
“Is it about the man from the shop?” Maggie asked, her heart tightening with sudden dread.
“It’s an internal family matter,” Vincent replied calmly, trying to reassure her. “Marco will drive you home in my personal car. Stay inside the shop tonight, Maggie. Keep the doors locked.”
“Vincent,” Maggie said, her grip tightening on his hands. “Be careful.”
He leaned down, pressing a firm, warm kiss to her forehead. “Always.”
An hour later, Maggie was back inside her apartment above the flower shop. She couldn't sleep. The steady ticking of the vintage brass pocket watch on her nightstand seemed to echo through the quiet room.
At 1:15 AM, her phone buzzed.
It was an unknown number. She answered immediately.
“Maggie?” a voice gasped through static. It was Marco—and he sounded panicked, his breathing ragged.
“Marco? What happened?”
“It was a set-up!” Marco spat over the sound of heavy wind and distant gunshots. “Jimmy Moretti—Vincent’s cousin—he made a deal with the rival syndicate from Detroit! They ambushed us at the pier! Vincent’s hit... he’s hurt bad!”
Maggie’s blood ran cold. The world seemed to stop spinning.
“Where are you?!” she demanded, pulling her boots on frantically.
“We’re at the abandoned greenhouse complex near the old rail yard on 21st Street,” Marco choked out. “My engine is shot. They’re closing in. Maggie, if Vincent doesn't get medical help in twenty minutes—’
“I’m coming,” Maggie interrupted sharply. “I have my father’s emergency medical kit from the shop. Hold them off!”
She grabbed her leather jacket, her father’s heavy trauma kit from the back storage room, and her van keys.
Twenty minutes later, Maggie’s silver van careened down the dark, pothole-ridden alleyway of the industrial district on 21st Street. Rain poured down in heavy sheets, blurring her windshield.
She spotted Marco’s smoking black SUV crashed near the entrance of a massive, decaying glass greenhouse structure.
Maggie slammed on the brakes, grabbed the trauma kit, and ran into the dark, rain-slicked building.
Inside, the smell of shattered glass, wet rusted iron, and gunpowder hung heavy in the air.
“Marco!” she called out in a low, sharp whisper.
From behind a row of overturned concrete planters, Marco stumbled out, holding his bleeding side. “Over here! Quick!”
Maggie rushed behind the planters.
Vincent was propped against a brick wall, his tuxedo jacket torn, his white shirt soaked in dark blood near his left ribs. His face was dangerously pale, his breathing shallow and labored.
“Maggie...” Vincent gasped, his dark eyes fluttering open, trying to focus on her face. “You... you shouldn't be here...”
“Shut up,” Maggie snapped, her eyes stinging with tears as she dropped to her knees beside him. “You still owe me for the cooler glass!”
She unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers. The bullet had passed through his lower left side—a clean entry, but he was losing blood rapidly. She pulled heavy sterile gauze and pressure bandages from her kit, pressing down hard on the wound.
Vincent groaned, his hands gripping her wrists so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Hold him steady!” Maggie yelled to Marco.
Suddenly, the heavy metal doors at the end of the greenhouse rattled open.
Footsteps echoed against the wet concrete—four men, armed with assault rifles, walking slowly into the complex.
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Walking at the head of the group was a sleek, handsome man in his late thirties—Jimmy Moretti, Vincent’s cousin.
“Vincent!” Jimmy called out, his voice bouncing off the shattered glass roof. “Come out, dear cousin! Let’s end this so I can take my seat at the head of the table!”
