Chapter 5 - The Trap at the DocksBy Thursday evening, three days after the New York gala, the North Atlantic shipping terminal at Pier 14 in Portland, Maine, was cloaked in a heavy, rain-slicked darkness.
Towering steel shipping containers were stacked like iron mountain ranges along the wet concrete docks, illuminated by high-powered halogen floodlights that swung back and forth in the ocean wind.
A fleet of six black armored Maybachs belonging to Alessandro Moretti pulled through the terminal gates, their tires spraying rain against the pavement.
Alessandro stepped out of the central Maybach, wearing an immaculate black wool overcoat, flanked by Marco and twenty armed Moretti security operators.
Alessandro’s face was gaunt, his storm-gray eyes bloodshot, his jaw stubbled from seventy-two hours of ceaseless, desperate searching across New England.
Standing near the edge of the central shipping crane, wearing a long silver silk gown beneath her open coat, her makeup ruined by tears and panic, was Valentina Russo.
She was bound to an iron chair, guarded by four broad-shouldered Vance security operators clad in dark tactical gear.
"ALESSANDRO!" Valentina shrieked frantically, her voice echoing over the crashing ocean waves. "SAVE ME! THESE MONSTERS KIDNAPPED ME FROM NEW YORK!"
Alessandro didn't even look at her. He walked slowly across the wet concrete, stopping ten feet from the crane, his eyes scanning the shadow-filled terminal.
"Where is she, Marco?" Alessandro rasped into the rain.
"I'm right here, Alex," a sharp, clear voice echoed from the elevated catwalk above the crane.
Alessandro went completely, terrifyingly motionless.
He raised his storm-gray eyes slowly toward the high platform.
Standing under the golden beam of the central floodlight, wearing a breathtaking midnight-blue tailored suit, her dark hair swept back in a royal knot, her posture straight as carved marble, was me.
Behind me stood Victor Vance and twenty elite tactical officers holding silenced rifles trained directly on Alessandro’s perimeter guards.
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Alessandro’s breath trapped in his throat. His bloodshot eyes locked onto my face with a depth of raw, agonizing, and desperate reverence that made his entire six-foot-three frame tremble in the cold rain.
"Elena..." Alessandro choked out, his baritone cracking into a ragged, weeping whisper. "My God... Elena..."
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