Chapter 6 - Retaliation
The docks at midnight were a desolate, sprawling maze of shipping containers and rusted cranes. Senator Sterling’s primary source of illegal income—the income that funded his campaigns under the table—came through a smuggling ring operating out of Pier 44.
Julian arrived with Dante and a strike team of ten men. They moved like ghosts through the freezing fog.
"Two guards at the warehouse door," Dante whispered through the comms.
Julian didn't hesitate. He raised his suppressed pistol and fired twice in rapid succession. Pfft. Pfft. Both guards dropped silently to the concrete.
Julian kicked the warehouse door open. Inside, millions of dollars worth of untaxed luxury cars, smuggled weapons, and narcotics were being loaded onto trucks by Sterling’s men. The foreman, a heavyset man named Russo, froze when he saw Julian step into the light.
"Rossi," Russo stammered, raising his hands. "You ain't supposed to be here."
"I own the docks, Russo," Julian said smoothly, walking forward as his men fanned out, disarming the smugglers in seconds. "Which means I own you. Tell Richard Sterling I said hello."
Julian nodded to Dante.
Dante tossed a flares into the center of the warehouse. The flames caught the leaked oil on the floor, spreading rapidly toward the crates of contraband.
"Get out," Julian commanded the smugglers. They didn't need to be told twice, scrambling for the exits as the fire raged.
Within minutes, Senator Sterling’s multi-million dollar smuggling hub was a towering inferno, lighting up the New York skyline. Julian stood by his SUV, watching the flames reflect in the dark water of the harbor. The message was clear: Burn my club, I burn your bank.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Sophia.
"The accounts are clean," her voice came through, sounding breathless. "The DA's office just ran the preliminary electronic sweep. They found nothing. You're completely insulated."
Julian smiled for the first time all night. "Good work, Sophia. Get some sleep."
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"Julian?" she asked softly before hanging up. "Be careful."
The genuine concern in her voice hit him harder than a physical blow. He wasn't used to people caring about him without an ulterior motive. "I always am," he promised.
