0018 ~ Vincent ~ The Rolls-Royce glided to a smooth halt in front of the sleek, tinted glass exterior of the Hamish Group Logistics headquarters.
Randall hopped out instantly, rounding the hood to pull open my door.
I stepped onto the pavement, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt.
Waiting near the entrance under the sharp morning sun was Luca, flanked by a half-dozen of my most reliable security personnel.
They straightened the moment my boots hit the concrete.
“Steele is already waiting up in your office, boss,” Luca reported, falling into step half a pace behind me as I bypassed the perimeter guards.
The rest of the crew formed a tight, moving wall around us.
We entered the private elevator bay, the lift rising rapidly to the executive penthouse suite.
When the doors slid open, the usual floor staff stood at attention, murmuring tentative greetings as I walked past.
I didn’t spare them a glance.
My focus was entirely on the double oak doors at the end of the hall.
I pushed into my office, the scent of expensive tobacco immediately hitting my senses.
Tony Steele, the arrogant heir and current CEO of Steele Industries, was sprawled across one of my imported leather visitor’s chairs.
He had his mud-flecked designer loafers kicked up, resting right in the center of my polished mahogany desk.
“Lockwood,” Tony smiled, his expression smug as he watched me enter.
“You’re finally deciding to show up to your own building.” I glanced over my shoulder, offering a sharp jerk of my chin to the security detail.
“Clear the room.
Luca, stay.” The men exited silently, closing the thick doors behind them.
Luca stepped forward with practiced efficiency, helping me slide out of my wool coat before hanging it neatly on the brass hook near the wall.
I walked around the perimeter of my desk, my eyes tracking the position of Tony’s feet on my workspace, before taking my seat in the high-backed leather chair.
“You’re late for the negotiation,” Tony pointed out, tapping a gold signet ring against his knee, completely unbothered by my silence.
“I got caught up with family business,” I replied flatly.
“Family business?” Tony let out a mocking chuckle, leaning his head back against the cushion.
“Is that what we’re calling it now?
Or were you just spending the early hours breaking in one of those new girls at your downtown nightclub?” My gaze narrowed, locking onto him with a look that would have made lesser men plead for their lives.
The air between us grew incredibly tense.
I kept my hands flat on the desk, forcing my temper down.
In this exact moment, Steele was a necessary business partner, and an escalation would ruin a highly profitable transport line.
Averted from his comment, I looked back down at his shoes resting on my desk.
“You stated in your brief that you required our securest loading docks until the shipment reaches international waters.” “Yeah, exactly,” Tony said, finally dropping his legs to the floor and leaning forward, his demeanor shifting to something resembling serious business.
“The merchandise inside those crates…it’s incredibly fragile.
Highly delicate material.
It needs to be handled with absolute care from the moment it leaves the warehouse floor.” “Understood,” I said simply.
I snapped my fingers once.
Luca immediately stepped forward, pulling a leather binder from his arm and laying the crisp contract documents directly between Tony and me.
“Let’s execute the paperwork,” I murmured.
Luca offered an expensive fountain pen to the man.
“Of course,” Tony nodded, snatching the pen from Luca’s fingers.
He scribbled his signature across the bottom lines of the registry with a flourish.
Once the ink dried, he tossed the pen aside and stood up, smoothing down his tailored jacket.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I want to personally inspect my beauties before they get loaded into the belly of the vessel.” “Let’s move,” I said.
I rose from my chair, and Luca immediately moved behind me to hold out my coat.
I slid my arms into the fabric, and we left the executive suite, descending back down to the waiting vehicles.
Our small convoy traveled across the bridge toward Fulton Harbor in Brooklyn, the expansive seaport that served as the primary gateway for my shipping empire.
Like the high-end clubs uptown, this entire harbor belonged to the Lockwood name.
The docks were a chaotic hub of industrial movement—hundreds of laborers moving crates, the constant whine of forklifts driving back and forth between the massive corrugated iron warehouses and the water’s edge.
We navigated the maze of cargo containers, walking down to the specific pier where Steele’s shipment was prepared for boarding.
I signaled to the shift foreman, pointing a finger at the leading wooden crate.
“Open it up,” I ordered.
The worker used a crowbar to pry back the thick timber, revealing layers of protective straw and custom molding.
Tucked securely inside were stacks of exquisite, hand-crafted porcelain plates and delicate glassware.
“Careful with those, you idiots,” Tony barked at the workers, taking a step closer to inspect the seal.
“That’s Veneto china.
Incredibly rare, highly fragile.
If a single plate cracks, the entire set loses its value.” I watched the laborers handle the crate with extreme caution before looking over at Tony, raising an eyebrow.
“I have to admit, Steele, I’m somewhat surprised you’re using my securest military-grade docks just to ship out high-end kitchenware.” Tony turned to face me, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.
“The glassware is just the legal vanguard, Lockwood.
The real weight…the other things…those are arriving on the next transport line.” “I thought as much,” I murmured, signaling the foreman to seal the crate back up.
We stood on the wooden pier for twenty minutes, watching the specialized cranes hoist the crates into the cargo hold of the transport ship.
The massive engines roared to life, and the vessel began its slow journey out toward the open sea.
“I will personally authorize the bill of lading the exact moment the ship clears the harbor limits,” I told him, turning my back to the water.
“My contacts on the receiving coast will notify you the second your logistics team initiates the pick-up.” “It’s always an absolute pleasure doing business with a professional like you, Lockwood,” Tony said, a grin on his face as he thrust out his right hand to seal the deal.
Before my fingers could even brush against his palm, the relative peace of the harbor was violently shattered.
The sudden, deafening roar of automatic gunfire erupted from the shadow of the nearby shipping containers.
Bullets tore through the wooden crates, sending splintered shards of timber flying through the air.
In a fraction of a second, my muscle memory took over; I reached into my shoulder holster, drawing my customized firearm and aiming it directly toward the origin of the muzzle flashes.
Panic exploded across the pier.
Laborers screamed, abandoning their equipment and scrambling for cover behind the heavy steel containers.
“Get down!
Protect the boss!” Luca yelled, his voice cutting through the noise as my security detail immediately swarmed toward me, drawing their weapons to form a protective perimeter around my body.
Tony spun around toward the source of the gunfire, his own personal bodyguards drawing their pistols in a frantic hurry.
“What the hell is—” Tony never finished his sentence.
A high-caliber bullet ripped cleanly through his left shoulder, tearing through the fabric of his jacket.
The sheer force of the impact spun him around, and a hot spray of his dark blood splashed directly across the side of my face.
He let out a choked gasp, his legs giving out beneath him as he collapsed hard onto the concrete dock.
I stared down at his writhing form before looking back up at the container stacks where the gunfire was intensifying.
Something about this attack was completely wrong.
This wasn’t a standard harbor hit.
“Boss, are you hit?
Are you okay?” Luca shouted over the noise, firing a round into the distance to keep the shooters pinned down.
I didn’t answer him.
My eyes were completely fixed on the upper catwalks of the harbor, my mind analyzing the strategy of the ambushers.
With three of my port workers down, Tony bleeding out on the pavement, and the rest of the harbor locked in absolute terror, a dark rage settled into my chest.
I wanted to know exactly who the son of a bitch was who thought they could bring a war to my docks.