Chapter 13 - The Trap at Blackwood Wharf
The elimination of Marcus Sterling closed a chapter of Sadi’s past, but it opened the floodgates of Roman’s underworld war. Viktor Petrov was not a man to lick his wounds in silence. Within forty-eight hours of the docks raid, three of Roman’s distribution centers across the state had received bomb threats, and two supply trucks bound for Vance Enterprises were hijacked on Interstate 95.
Viktor was signaling that he didn't care about business; he wanted chaos.
Inside the war room on the eighty-second floor of Vance Tower, blueprints and satellite feeds flickered across three massive monitors. Roman stood at the head of the mahogany conference table, flanked by his top four captains. Sadi sat to his right, wearing an ivory tailored pantsuit, a notepad filled with tactical logistics in front of her.
"Viktor is running low on cash," Sadi pointed out, tapping a pen against a printout of maritime trade routes. "His father cut him off from the Moscow accounts after the shipping codes failed. If he hijacked those trucks, he didn't do it to hurt our stock. He did it to steal the medical narcotics inside."
The captains exchanged stunned glances. Leo, a veteran enforcer who had served Roman’s father for twenty years, cleared his throat. "With respect, Mrs. Vance, Petrov usually traffics in heavy weapons, not pharmaceuticals."
"He traffics in whatever can be laundered into cash within twenty-four hours," Sadi countered, her voice calm and absolute. "He owes forty men at his upstate compound. Mercenaries don't wait for wire transfers. He needs a fence, and there’s only one buyer on the coast with that kind of liquidity."
Roman’s eyes sparked with pride. He looked at Leo. "Who is the buyer, Leo?"
Leo hesitated, then cursed under his breath. "Old Man Chen down at Blackwood Wharf."
"Exactly," Roman said, turning back to the table. "Viktor will bring the cargo to Blackwood tonight. He’ll expect us to hit his compound upstate because he thinks we’re hunting him where he sleeps. He doesn't think we know about Chen."
"Because Marcus didn't know about Chen," Sadi added. "Marcus only knew what was on the surface. Roman, if you intercept him at Blackwood, you cut off his only source of emergency cash. His own mercenaries will turn on him before the week ends."
Roman looked around the table. His men nodded in silent agreement. What had begun as an alliance born of convenience and protection had transformed: Sadi wasn't just surviving in this world; she was dissecting it.
"We move at midnight," Roman ordered. "Three teams. Leo takes the seawall. Silas locks down the perimeter road. I take the primary warehouse."
"And me?" Sadi asked, locking eyes with him.
Roman paused. The room went still. His captains held their breath, expecting Roman to reassert the traditional boundary—to send his wife back upstairs to safety.
"You stay in the command van with Silas," Roman said, his voice firm, brooking no debate, but conceding ground. "You watch the perimeter drone feeds. If Viktor tries to slip through the marshland like he did at the docks, you call the shots. You have the comms, Sadi."
A rare smile touched her lips. "Understood."
Midnight arrived beneath a blanket of thick, suffocating fog.
Blackwood Wharf was an abandoned timber terminal on the northern mouth of the bay, rotten wooden pylons jutting out of the black water like broken teeth. The command van sat three hundred yards away, tucked behind the rusted skeleton of an old crane, its dark-tinted windows reflecting the dull glow of dashboard monitors.
Inside, Sadi wore a headset, her eyes tracking the infrared heat signatures moving through the warehouse district. Silas sat beside her, fingers dancing across frequency scanners.
*“Team One in position,”* Roman’s low, steady voice crackled through the earpiece. *“The target truck has arrived. Two black SUVs in escort.”*
On the screen, Sadi watched four thermal figures emerge from the truck, unloading wooden crates onto the loading dock. A fifth figure stepped out of the lead SUV. The heat profile matched Viktor Petrov’s tall, slender frame.
*“We have visual on Viktor,”* Leo’s voice whispered over the radio. *“Take the shot?”*
Sadi leaned closer to the monitor, zooming in on the SUV. Something felt wrong. The gait of the man walking toward the dock was slightly off—his strides were shorter, heavier.
"Wait," Sadi commanded into the mic.
*“Sadi?”* Roman responded instantly.
"Look at his hands on the thermals," Sadi said rapidly, her heart spiking. "Viktor always keeps his hands in his pockets or holds a blade. This man is walking with his hands raised slightly, like a bodyguard mimicking a boss. And where is Grigori?"
Silence hung on the comms for three agonizing seconds.
"She’s right," Silas muttered, scanning the radio waves. "I’m picking up an encrypted relay signal coming from behind us—Boss, it's a decoy!"
*“Team pull back!”* Roman barked through the channel. *“It's an ambush—!”*
Before Roman’s order could echo out, an RPG round streaked out of the darkness from the far treeline, smashing into the warehouse roof in a deafening fireball. The night exploded into thunderous automatic gunfire.
"Roman!" Sadi gasped, gripping the edge of the console.
*“We’re clear of the blast!”* Roman shouted over the roaring audio feed. *“They knew we were coming! Viktor isn't at the wharf—!”*
A heavy metallic thud slammed against the side of the command van.
The vehicle rocked violently on its suspension. The monitors flickered and went black as the exterior cameras were shot out.
"Down!" Silas yelled, drawing his weapon and throwing his body across Sadi as high-caliber rounds punched through the reinforced plating of the van doors.
Sadi hit the floor, glass from the forward windshield raining down around them. Through the spider-webbed cracks of the glass, illuminated by the red flares popping outside, she saw a familiar, terrifying figure walking through the fog toward the van door.
Viktor Petrov.
He held a suppressed submachine gun in one hand, his face split into a cruel, triumphant smile.
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"Come out, Mrs. Vance!" Viktor’s voice rang through the shattered glass, cold and mocking. "Your husband is busy burning at the dock! Let us see what you are worth without him!"
***
