Chapter 7 - Shadows in the East River
Midnight in New York City belonged to the ghosts.
Down at Pier 42, where the cold, dark waters of the East River lapped against the decaying wooden pilings, the fog rolled in thick and suffocating, swallowing the amber glow of the overhead streetlamps.
A single black container ship sat idling against the dock, its massive diesel engines rumbling deep in the hull, ready to cast off for international waters.
In the cargo bay office, away from the prying eyes of port authorities, two men sat handcuffed to a rusted iron pipe. Arthur Sterling’s expensive gray suit was caked in grime and dried saltwater, his gold-rimmed glasses missing one lens. Beside him, Anthony Moretti sat sobbing quietly into his knees, his spirit entirely broken.
Heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel outside.
The corrugated steel door slid open, and Gabriel Costa stepped into the dim light, followed closely by Dominic Moretti and Grace Miller.
Sterling lifted his head, his eyes wide with desperate terror as he saw Dominic walk into the room.
“Dominic! Please!” Sterling choked out, struggling against the handcuffs. “You can’t do this! I’m an officer of the court! I have rights! We can make a deal—!”
Dominic stopped two feet away from them, looking down at his former corporate lawyer with cold, detached indifference.
“Your rights ended the moment you signed the transfer papers for the Brighton Beach syndicate, Arthur,” Dominic said softly. “You wanted a clean break from Moretti Holdings. Consider your wish granted.”
He turned his gaze to Anthony, who looked up with bloodshot, pleading eyes.
“Cousin... please,” Anthony whispered, his voice cracking. “Don't send me down there. They’ll kill me.”
“You should have thought about that before you cut my brake line on the FDR,” Dominic replied, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Nico didn't get a choice when your car sent him into the river, Anthony. You’re getting a second chance. Whether you survive in South America is entirely up to your survival skills.”
Dominic nodded to Gabriel.
Gabriel stepped forward, unlocking the handcuffs from the iron pipe and yanking both men roughly to their feet. They screamed and thrashed as Gabriel and his enforcers dragged them out onto the freezing, mist-shrouded deck of the cargo ship, shoving them down the metal stairwell toward the lower storage compartments.
A few minutes later, Gabriel walked back into the office, wiping his hands on a cloth.
“They’re secured in the cargo hold, boss,” Gabriel reported. “The captain has instructions to drop them off at the outer ports of Cartagena with a satellite phone and fifty dollars in local currency. They won't be bothering us again.”
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Dominic nodded, pulling out his burner phone and tossing it onto the desk. “Good. Let’s go home.”
Grace stood by the door, watching the dark water swirl against the pier. She felt a strange, profound sense of closure. The nightmare that had begun five nights ago in a hospital room was finally over.
