Chapter Forty-Seven
Lucas
The stench of blood hits my nostrils even before I step over the threshold. The warehouse is eerily silent, only the faint sound of the neon flickering overhead and the muted thuds of my steps over the concrete floor disrupt the silence.
I take the scene in—four of my men lie on the ground, shot dead. Their blood pools in dark stains on the concrete floor. One of them, Marco, is—was—one of my most trusted men.
“This was supposed to be a routine inspection,” I grit out. The men behind me don’t speak, their faces are grim. They know that someone has declared war on us.
I walk up to Marco’s body and crouch down to inspect his wounds. He has been shot in the knee and in the head. His eyes are open and staring at the ceiling. The entry wound on his forehead glares at me like an accusation.
I stand up and hit the group call button for D and Teo.
“We have a situation at the docks,” I say without preamble.
“Four of our men were shot during a routine inspection of a shipment that wasn’t supposed to dock here.
Teo, can you get me intel about the cargo?
I’ll send you the details. The ship’s gone, and so is the crew.
No trace of anyone involved, just empty crates and our men on the ground.
” I hear cursing at the other end. “D, can you keep the authorities at bay? We need more time cleaning up. Someone must’ve heard the shots, it’s a wonder the place is not swarming with cops yet. ”
“Got it,” comes his reply and I disconnect the call. Then I give my men instructions to take pictures of the scene and to look for any clues before removing the bodies.
While I stand outside and wait for the cleaning to wrap up, my mind runs in circles, trying to figure out who could have attacked our crew, on our turf.
Whoever they are, they have either been reckless, or this is a declaration of war.
One of my men walks up to me and hands me a crumpled sheet of paper.
The shipping manifest. I scan it quickly—port of origin Naples, FL.
Obviously fake since there is no major freight port in Naples and my men are monitoring the small industrial docks used for shadow shipments.
They reported no recent transiting shipment.
So where did this shipment come from, and what did it transport?
I slip the manifest in my coat pocket and turn around to walk to my car. Time to check the security footage.
* * * *
The conference room in Teo’s secure building, The Bastion, smells of coffee when I step inside and seal the soundproof door behind me.
The walls are lined with screens, all glowing with data Teo has been undoubtedly pulling since my call—port maps, satellite feeds, shipment logs.
There are also the pictures from the shooting scene I’ve sent him earlier.
D and Teo are already there, seated at the table, their attention focused on the nearest wall of monitors.
Teo exhales without looking back. “The cameras weren’t destroyed.
They weren’t looped either. The feeds were blurred, remotely.
I’ve found no backdoor left open, no signature code.
There’s nothing we can work with to identify the ship or the men. ”
I drop the shipping manifest onto the table.
“Fake origin,” I say. “Naples, Florida.”
D takes it to scan it with his eyes, then he holds it out to Teo who does the same. “Amateurs?”
“No,” Teo says immediately. “Amateurs don’t ghost surveillance and walk away invisible. They’re professionals.”
“Then why leave this?” D asks.
I lean forward, palms braced against the table. “Because they wanted us to find it.”
The room goes quiet.
Teo finally turns to me, eyes grave. “You think it’s misdirection.”
“I think it’s bait,” I reply. “It’s too obvious to be real. Someone wanted us chasing ports that don’t exist. And we did, for the last few months we’ve been keeping eyes and ears there on a wild goose chase.”
Teo’s fingers still on the tablet. “What if it’s…them?”
I look at him. “Who do you have in mind?”
“Manticore,” he says.
The word lands heavy between us.
“They’ve gone quiet,” Teo continues. “There’s no sign of activity in the darknet channels.
We’ve double checked and we are keeping eyes out for them round the clock, but there’s been nothing substantial for the last twenty-four hours.
It’s as if they vanished. And every time they go silent there is something happening on our docks. ”
D’s jaw tightens. “That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No,” Teo agrees. Silence stretches again, thick and uncomfortable. “If this was Manticore,” he goes on, “why hit the docks? Why kill our men?”
“Because it’s our territory,” I fall in.
Teo nods once. “But why not directly come after us then?”
“Fuck if I know,” I reply. “It’s like they are testing the waters, and waiting for something to happen. But what?”
Our silence stretches on as we reflect.
I glance at the screens again as if the answers we are looking for were there. But all I see are maps, data and dead ends. Meaningless fragments we can’t piece together. Frustration is nagging at me, making my gut burn.
“We can’t move if we don’t know who or where they are,” D says.
“I know,” I reply. “And they know that, too.”
Anger settles cold in my chest. We have four dead men. But no trail, and no enemy to strike back at. Someone wanted our attention. And whoever they are, now they’ve got it.
Just as I’m about to stand up, my phone vibrates on the table.
I swipe the feed up. And curse. “Motherfucker.”
D and Teo both look up at the same time.
I lift my eyes from the screen, frowning. “Vitale’s nephew,” I say slowly. “Niccolò. He wants to meet me in two days.”
Teo’s fingers still over his tablet. “That’s…interesting timing.”
D leans back in his chair, expression darkening. “We all go.”
I shake my head. “No, he said he wanted to meet me alone. To talk.”
“Sounds like a trap,” Teo growls as D declares, “You’re not meeting him without backup.”
“Relax,” I tell them, sliding my phone over the tabletop so they can read the message thread. “Look at the address. Either he is very dumb, or he is very confident. Either way, it looks like someone finally decided to step into the light,” I say.
And whatever game this is, things just got interesting.