The Shipping Yard Confrontation

The air was thick with salt and oil, the scent of rusted metal mixing with the damp breeze rolling off the docks. The shipping yard loomed ahead, its towering stacks of cargo containers forming a labyrinth of steel and shadow. Dim floodlights flickered overhead, barely cutting through the darkness.

Elijah stood at the edge of the pier, his gaze locked onto the vast expanse of the yard. This wasn't just another skirmish—this was a statement. Lorenzo had been circling this place like a vulture, and Elijah was about to find out why.

Dante stood beside him, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "You really think he'll show?"

Elijah smirked. "He's been leaving breadcrumbs for weeks. He wants me here." His grip tightened around his gun. "The mistake he made was thinking I'd come alone."

Nathan's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Perimeter's secure. No movement yet."

Luca's low chuckle followed. "Either they're late, or they're already here."

Elijah's jaw tensed. It was the second option.

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The Trap is Set

Elijah's team spread out through the yard, moving between the rows of containers. The ground was littered with old chains and puddles of rainwater that reflected the glow of the overhead lights. Every step felt heavier, the silence stretching unbearably.

Then—

Clink.

Dante halted. His sharp eyes caught the glint of something nestled between two containers. A tripwire.

Shit.

Before he could react, an explosion erupted from the right side of the yard. The shockwave sent dust and debris flying, a chain reaction of smaller blasts following suit. Fire roared to life, illuminating the night in a hellish glow.

Gunfire cracked through the air.

"It's an ambush!" Nathan's voice was sharp through the comms.

Figures emerged from the shadows—Lorenzo's men, armed and ready. The shipping yard became a battlefield in seconds, bullets ricocheting off metal as both sides exchanged fire.

Dante dove behind a stack of crates, gun drawn. "You were right, Sinclair. He's been expecting us."

Elijah took cover, firing precise shots at the approaching enemies. "Then let's not disappoint him."

---

A Face from the Shadows

Through the chaos, a slow clap echoed from the upper level of a nearby container. The sound was deliberate, mocking.

Elijah's blood ran cold.

Stepping into the firelight, dressed in a sleek black coat, was Lorenzo Moretti himself.

"Well, well," Lorenzo called out, a smirk playing on his lips. "I was beginning to think you'd keep me waiting forever."

Elijah aimed his gun at him without hesitation. "You set this up."

Lorenzo spread his arms in mock innocence. "Guilty. But don't take it personally." His grin widened. "I just wanted to see how far I could push you before you snapped."

Dante stepped forward, his voice deadly calm. "If you were so eager to die, you could've just asked."

Lorenzo's laughter was slow, deliberate. "Oh, Dante, still so predictable." His gaze flickered between them, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "And Sinclair… you look good with blood on you. It suits you."

Elijah fired without warning.

Lorenzo dodged at the last second, the bullet grazing his arm. Instead of panicking, he laughed. "That's the spirit."

From the shadows, more of Lorenzo's men emerged—far more than they had accounted for.

Nathan's voice came through the earpiece, sharp and urgent. "Elijah, we need to retreat. We're outnumbered."

Elijah gritted his teeth. He hated running. But this wasn't about pride—this was about strategy.

Dante covered him as he made a quick decision. "Smoke grenades. Now."

Luca reacted instantly, pulling two from his belt and tossing them into the fray. Thick white smoke burst into the air, swallowing the battlefield in a dense fog. The gunfire turned wild, enemies shooting blindly.

Elijah grabbed Dante's arm and pulled him toward the exit. "We'll finish this later."

Lorenzo's voice rang out through the smoke. "Run while you can, Sinclair. Next time, I won't be so generous."

Elijah didn't look back.

But one thing was certain—this wasn't over.

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