Chapter 5 - The burning ice
The east river shipyard was a desolate stretch of frozen concrete and rusting metal containers. The wind whipped off the dark water, driving freezing snow into the faces of the men standing guard. The cinematic contrast of the bright, harsh industrial floodlights against the pitch-black sky created a dramatic stage for the coming violence. Vincent stood on the roof of a nearby warehouse, looking through a pair of high-powered binoculars. Below, he could see the silver sedan with diplomatic plates parked near the main loading dock. Surrounding it were dozens of men wearing heavy winter gear, carrying military-grade weaponry. They were Moretti soldiers.
In the center of the loading dock, standing perfectly still despite the freezing wind, was Celeste. She wore her extravagant emerald winter gown beneath a thick black trench coat. She was holding the hand of a small boy. Julian. The boy wore a thick wool coat, his hands shoved into his pockets, his posture rigid and disciplined. He didn't look like a child; he looked like a miniature soldier awaiting orders.
Vincent’s heart ached at the sight of his son, but he forced the emotion down. He had to be a general right now, not a father. He lowered the binoculars and looked at Miller.
No one fires near the boy. Understood? Vincent ordered. We move in fast. Cut the power to the floodlights. Blind them. Then we take them apart.
Miller nodded, speaking quietly into his radio. A second later, the massive industrial floodlights surrounding the shipyard violently shut off with a loud mechanical clank. The dock was plunged into absolute darkness, save for the ambient light of the city skyline in the distance.
Panic immediately erupted among the Moretti soldiers. They shouted in Italian, their flashlights cutting erratic beams through the falling snow. Vincent and his men descended from the rooftops like shadows. The confrontation was brutal, swift, and entirely one-sided. Vincent moved with terrifying, athletic precision. He didn't use a firearm; he used the environment. He emerged from the dark, grabbing a Moretti soldier by the tactical vest and hurling him into the freezing river. He disarmed another with a sickening twist of the wrist, tossing the weapon away. He was a force of nature, a legendary boss asserting absolute dominance. There was no graphic bloodshed, only the terrifying reality of deeply masculine power dismantling an unprepared enemy.
Within minutes, the dock was secure. The Moretti soldiers who were still conscious had surrendered, dropping to their knees in the snow.
Vincent walked slowly into the center of the dock. The emergency backup lights flickered on, casting a dim, dramatic glow. Celeste was backed against the silver sedan. She looked disheveled, her perfect blonde hair ruined by the wind, her trench coat torn at the shoulder. But she was entirely alone.
Where is he? Vincent roared, his voice echoing off the metal containers.
Celeste laughed, a manic, desperate sound. You think I’m stupid, Vincent? You think I would bring the heir to a war zone? That wasn't Julian. That was a decoy. One of the Moretti capos' sons dressed in a nice coat.
Vincent stepped forward, grabbing her by the throat of her coat and slamming her hard against the side of the silver car. The metal dented under his massive strength.
You have pushed me to the absolute edge, Celeste, Vincent said, his face inches from hers. His eyes were completely devoid of mercy. Where is my son?
Celeste gasped for air, but the venomous smile returned to her rosy lips. He's exactly where he belongs. He's at the estate, Vincent.
Vincent froze. The estate.
While you were playing action hero down here in the freezing cold, my real team bypassed your security at the mansion, Celeste choked out, triumphant. Julian isn't just an heir, Vincent. He’s the executioner. He has been trained to hate everything about you. And right now, he is sitting in the living room with his sweet little sister.
Vincent dropped her. The realization hit him like a physical blow. He had left Noelle at the house with the guards, but if Celeste had an inside man, the guards were useless. He had left his daughter alone with a brother trained to view her as an obstacle.
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Lock her in the trunk of this car, Vincent ordered Miller, his voice trembling with a terrifying rage. If she makes a sound, throw the car into the river.
Vincent ran to his SUV, throwing himself into the driver’s seat. He didn't wait for his men. He slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, the heavy vehicle fishtailing in the snow before gripping the road and tearing off toward the estate. The cinematic winter night blurred past the windows as he pushed the engine to its absolute limit. He had to get home.
