Chapter 9 - The Warehouse Raid
The abandoned railway yards in Long Island City were a sprawling, rusting labyrinth of decaying boxcars, overgrown tracks, and towering concrete loading docks whipped by freezing winds rolling off the East River. At precisely 11:55 PM, Victor Hale’s armored town car pulled up to the perimeter gate, its headlights cutting through the heavy fog. Victor stepped out alone into the biting cold, wearing his signature charcoal overcoat, his hands resting casually inside his pockets, though an elite tactical sniper team commanded by Paul DeMarco was already positioned across the rooftops surrounding the yard. “I’m here, Vitale!” Victor’s voice boomed across the deserted yard, carrying effortlessly through the stillness of the night. From the shadows of a rusted boxcar, Carmine Vitale stepped forward, flanked by four armed enforcers who dragged a bruised, gagged Arthur Bennett between them. Arthur was trembling violently, his eyes wide with absolute terror. Carmine laughed, a harsh, grating sound echoing off the metal walls. “Well, well, the great Victor Hale actually shows up for a petty accountant!” Carmine sneered, pressing the barrel of a pistol against Arthur’s temple. “Drop your weapons, Hale, or I paint this yard with his brains.” Victor didn't blink. He took two deliberate steps forward, his gray eyes locking onto Carmine with lethal calm. “You overestimate how much I care about Arthur Bennett, Carmine,” Victor replied smoothly. “He’s a thief who stole from my ledgers. If you want to execute him, save me the cost of a trial.” Carmine’s smug smile faltered slightly as he tried to read Victor’s expression. Before Carmine could process the warning, a sharp, synchronized crack of sniper fire echoed across the rooftops. In less than two seconds, all four of Carmine’s guards dropped instantly to the concrete, their weapons clattering away harmlessly. Before Carmine could even raise his pistol, Paul DeMarco and the assault team swarmed out from the boxcars, pinning Carmine flat against the side of a freight car with a heavy tactical shield pressed against his throat. Victor walked slowly over to the terrified accountant, cutting Arthur’s zip ties with a pocketknife, and hauled him up by his collar. “Your sister is safe, Arthur,” Victor whispered into the shaking man's ear. “Which is the only reason you’re still breathing. Now get out of my city before I change my mind.”
