Chapter 9 - The Ambush at Pier 42
The rain fell in sheets over the industrial district, turning the city into a labyrinth of black asphalt and blurred neon reflections.
Aurora sat inside the secure safehouse Matteo had forced her into—a sleek, armored penthouse overlooking the shipping yards. Madame Simone had been placed under medical care at a private clinic upstate, surrounded by six armed guards, but Aurora refused to hide behind locked doors any longer.
She paced the hardwood floors, her hands clenched into tight fists.
The ashes of *Petite Fleur* were still burning in her mind. Her entire life—her recipes, her notebooks, her independence—had been reduced to soot because someone wanted to send a message to Matteo De Luca.
The heavy steel door unlocked with a sharp click.
Nico entered, his trench coat dripping with rainwater, his face pale and grim.
“Miss Reyes,” Nico said, breathing heavily. “We have located the men who burned the bakery. They are holed up at an abandoned warehouse on Pier 42.”
Aurora stopped pacing. “Who are they?”
“Mercenaries hired by Marco Delgado’s splinter faction,” Nico explained, unholstering his firearm to check the magazine. “They wanted to test the Signore’s resolve before the harbor treaty went into effect. The Signore went to Pier 42 twenty minutes ago.”
Aurora’s breath hitched. “Alone?”
“He took four men,” Nico said, his jaw tightening. “He told us to stay here and guard you. But... our communications just went dead. The frequency was jammed three minutes after he entered the warehouse. It’s an ambush, Aurora.”
Aurora’s heart dropped into her stomach.
*An ambush.*
Matteo had walked into a trap because of her. He had gone to avenge her bakery, to tear apart the men who had hurt her, and his enemies had anticipated his rage.
“Take me there,” Aurora said, her voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute determination.
Nico stared at her in disbelief. “Are you out of your mind? The Signore gave strict orders that you were not to leave this room!”
Aurora stepped directly into his path, her eyes blazing with an unyielding fire that silenced the hardened soldier instantly.
“Your boss is currently walking into a kill zone because he was trying to protect me,” she said, her words sharp and unyielding. “You have two choices, Nico. You can drive me to that pier right now so we can back him up, or I will steal your car keys and drive there myself.”
Nico stared at her for three long seconds. In her fierce, unblinking glare, he saw something that commanded the same terrifying respect as Matteo himself.
“Get your coat,” Nico muttered, racking the slide of his pistol.
Ten minutes later, the armored SUV tore through the rusted chain-link gates of Pier 42.
The pier was an apocalyptic wasteland of rusted shipping containers, rotting wooden docks, and howling wind. Gunfire was already echoing through the storm—the sharp, rhythmic crack of assault rifles mingling with the boom of heavy-caliber handguns.
Nico slammed the SUV to a halt behind a stack of rusted steel crates. “Stay in the car!” he shouted, drawing his weapon and kicking his door open.
Aurora didn't stay.
The moment Nico charged into the warehouse through a broken loading bay, Aurora slipped out the passenger door. The freezing rain soaked her sweater instantly, but she barely felt it. Adrenaline roared through her veins like liquid fire.
She moved through the shadows of the loading dock, slipping through a shattered maintenance door into the cavernous interior of the warehouse.
The air inside smelled of cordite, blood, and diesel fuel.
Two of Delgado’s mercenaries lay motionless on the concrete floor near the entrance. Further inside, behind an overturned forklift, muzzle flashes illuminated the gloom.
Matteo was pinned down.
His dark suit was torn at the shoulder, soaked in dark crimson blood. His ammunition was clearly running low; he was firing single, disciplined shots with his heavy custom pistol, keeping three heavily armed mercenaries at bay behind a stack of wooden pallets.
Above him, on the steel catwalk suspended thirty feet in the air, a fourth mercenary was crawling into position with a high-powered rifle, aiming straight down at Matteo’s exposed position.
Matteo couldn't see him. He was completely focused on the men on the ground.
In three seconds, Matteo De Luca would be dead.
Aurora didn't think. She didn't hesitate.
Beside her on the maintenance wall hung a heavy industrial fire axe mounted behind emergency glass. She grabbed an iron crowbar from a tool bench, smashed the glass with a deafening crack, and wrenched the heavy steel axe from its brackets.
She bolted up the narrow iron stairs leading to the catwalk, her boots clanging against the metal steps.
The mercenary heard the sound and began to turn, his rifle swinging toward her.
With a feral, guttural scream of absolute fury, Aurora swung the heavy steel axe with every ounce of strength, rage, and defiance in her body.
The blunt side of the axe slammed into the mercenary’s shoulder and chest with crushing force.
The man shrieked as his rifle clattered over the railing, tumbling thirty feet to the concrete floor below. Before he could draw his sidearm, Aurora drove the handle of the axe forward, shoving him violently against the rusted safety rail.
The rusted metal gave way.
With a desperate, flailing cry, the mercenary plunged over the edge, crashing onto the wooden pallets below.
On the ground floor, Matteo spun around at the sound of the crash.
Seeing his flank cleared, he lunged from behind the forklift with terrifying speed, firing three rapid, deafening shots. The remaining mercenaries dropped instantly, their weapons clattering against the concrete.
Silence crashed over the warehouse, broken only by the howling wind through the broken roof and the sound of falling rain.
Matteo stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his smoking gun held at his side. Blood dripped steadily from his wounded shoulder, staining his white shirt a dark, visceral red.
He looked up.
Standing on the high catwalk, silhouetted against the storm through the shattered skylight, was Aurora.
Her dark hair was plastered to her face by the rain. Her hands were blistered, still clutching the heavy fire axe, her chest rising and falling in ragged, triumphant gasps.
Matteo stared up at her through the gloom, his dark eyes wide with shock, disbelief, and a reverence so profound it bordered on worship.
He slowly holstered his weapon, his voice echoing through the vast, blood-stained warehouse like a vow.
May you like
“Aurora,” he whispered into the dark.
***
