Chapter 4 - The Ghost of the Harbor
By 2:00 AM, the elite gala had dissolved into a chaotic riot of panicked politicians and fleeing capos.
Dominic stood alone in his darkened penthouse, his tailored suit rumpled, a glass of scotch clutched so hard in his fist that the crystal nearly shattered. The doors burst open, and his chief enforcer, Briggs, rushed in, breathing heavily.
"Boss, we tried to override the servers physically at the harbor terminal," Briggs panted. "It's locked down by military-grade encryption. Even our best hackers from Berlin can't crack the firewall. It requires a two-factor retinal scan from the primary architect."
"Seraphina," Dominic spat the name like a curse, his teeth grinding together so hard his jaw ached. "Where is she?"
"We tracked her burner phone to an abandoned warehouse district on Pier 42," Briggs said, pulling a tablet from his coat. "She isn't hiding, boss. She’s waiting for us."
Dominic's eyes narrowed into dark, murderous slits. He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a custom-engraved Beretta 9mm, and slid it into his shoulder holster.
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"Gather twenty men. Fully armed," Dominic snarled, walking toward the private elevator. "We’re going to remind my dear wife who runs the Black Coast."
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