CRIMSON VENDETTA

The Missing Shipment

James spent the remaining hours before dawn in a flophouse on the edge of the Slums, a place where cash spoke louder than questions and the rats were braver than the patrons.

The room cost him forty dollars. The bed had stains he didn't want to identify. The window was boarded up, and the door had three deadbolts and a chain. James sat with his back against the wall, the Glock in his lap, and waited for the sun to rise.

Sleep wouldn't come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Vale's face, heard Vin's trembling voice, felt the rebar connecting with flesh.

*Vale is setting you up. Vin knows something. The Syndicate is real, and they're watching you.*

He checked the burner phone. No messages. No calls. Troy hadn't reached out, which meant he was either dead, captured, or smart enough to stay quiet.

*You're alone. You're hunted. And you're about to walk into a meeting with a journalist you've never met.*

*What could possibly go wrong?*

---

The Cathedral on Third Street had been abandoned for fifteen years.

It sat in the middle of a neighborhood that had died with the steel mills, its stone walls covered in graffiti, its stained glass windows smashed to pieces. The parish had moved across town, and the building had been left to rot—a monument to a faith that had abandoned this part of Westport.

James arrived at eleven-forty-five, fifteen minutes early.

He'd spent the day moving, never staying in one place for more than an hour. He'd changed his clothes three times, switched jackets twice, worn a hat and sunglasses that made him look like a tourist who'd taken a wrong turn.

The Cathedral's main doors were chained shut, but there was a gap in the fence around the side. James slipped through, his footsteps echoing on the cracked pavement.

The interior was vast and empty, the pews long gone, the altar stripped bare. The only light came from the moon, filtering through the broken windows in silver shards. The air smelled of dust and decay and something else—something that might have been incense, might have been rot, might have been blood.

James moved to the center of the nave, his eyes scanning the shadows.

*You're a sitting duck. There's a dozen places for someone to hide in here. If this is a trap—*

"I'm here."

The voice came from behind him. James spun around, his hand going to his holster—

Blair Winslow stepped out of the shadows.

She was younger than he'd expected—mid-twenties, with sharp eyes and a face that looked like it had seen too much too fast. Her hair was dark, pulled back in a practical ponytail. She was wearing jeans and a leather jacket, a messenger bag slung across her body.

"Mr. Moretti." Her voice was flat, professional. "I appreciate you coming. Though I'm not sure why."

"Because I want answers."

"And you think I have them?"

"I think you know more than you're telling." James stepped closer, his hands at his sides. "I think you've been investigating the Syndicate for years. I think you've been looking for someone who could give you access to the inside."

Blair's eyes narrowed. "Who told you that?"

"Someone I trust."

"Someone you trust is going to get you killed." She reached into her bag, and James tensed—but she pulled out a folder, thick and worn. "Here. Consider this a down payment."

James took the folder, his fingers flipping it open. Inside were photographs, documents, newspaper clippings. Faces he didn't recognize. Names he'd never heard. A web of connections that stretched across Westport like a spider's web.

"What am I looking at?"

"The Syndicate's financial network. Or at least, the parts I've been able to piece together." Blair stepped closer, her voice dropping. "They're not just a criminal organization, Mr. Moretti. They're a shadow government. They control the courts, the police, the politicians. They've been running Westport for thirty years, and no one even knows they exist."

"Except you."

"Except me." Her eyes met his. "And now you."

James looked at the photographs again. He saw faces he recognized—Marco, Vale, even Sal. He saw faces he didn't recognize, faces that seemed to belong to businessmen and politicians and community leaders.

"Who's the head of it?"

"I don't know. No one knows. That's the point of the Syndicate—it's a hydra. Cut off one head, and two more grow in its place. Everyone's a pawn. Everyone's replaceable."

*Everyone's a pawn. Including you.*

James closed the folder. "I need more than this."

"Then find me something I can use. Something that links the Syndicate to the Moretti family. Something I can publish."

"You want me to betray my own family?"

"I want you to stop pretending you're still loyal to a family that's trying to kill you." Blair's voice was cold. "You're a dead man walking, Mr. Moretti. The only question is whether you'll die with the truth or with a lie."

*She's right. You're dead either way. The only question is whether you'll die with your head held high.*

James pocketed the folder. "I'll see what I can do."

"See that you do. And Mr. Moretti?"

He turned back.

"Be careful. The Syndicate isn't the only thing watching you. Your family has eyes everywhere."

"My family?"

"Your cousin's wife. She's been asking questions about you. About what happened the night Morrow died." Blair's face was grim. "I don't think she's working for the Syndicate. But I don't think she's on your side either."

*Sofia. Aunt Sofia. The keeper of the family's secrets.*

James nodded slowly. "Thank you. For the warning."

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't given me anything worth thanking me for."

---

James left the Cathedral the way he'd come, slipping through the gap in the fence and into the night.

The folder was heavy in his pocket, a weight that felt like it was pulling him down. He found a corner to stand in, a shadow to hide in, and started reading.

The photographs told a story. A story of money, of power, of connections that stretched across Westport like a spider's web. He saw the names of businesses that had mysteriously flourished, of politicians who'd been bought and sold, of community leaders who'd been manipulated into serving the Syndicate's interests.

And in the middle of it all, he saw a name he recognized.

*Vale.*

Not as a soldier. Not as a family member. But as something else—a name that appeared again and again in the documents, a name that kept showing up in the margins of the photographs.

*Vale isn't just a captain. He's something more. He's connected to the Syndicate in a way that no one else is.*

James closed the folder, his mind racing.

*If Vale is connected to the Syndicate, then everything makes sense. The frame. The warehouse. The missing shipment. It's all part of a plan to consolidate power. To eliminate anyone who might stand in his way.*

*You're not just a pawn, James. You're a target.*

He needed to find Troy. He needed to get back to Sal's. He needed to find out what had happened to the shipment that was supposed to be in the warehouse.

*The shipment. The one you were supposed to check. The one that's been missing since Morrow was killed.*

James pulled out the burner phone and dialed a number he'd hoped never to call.

"Vincent Moretti."

Vin answered on the second ring, his voice guarded. "James?"

"I need to know about the shipment. The one that was supposed to be in the warehouse on the night Morrow was killed."

There was a long pause on the other end.

"James, you need to stay away from this. You need to—"

"Answer the question, Vin. What was in the shipment?"

Vin was silent for so long that James thought the line had gone dead. Then he heard a breath, a sigh, the sound of a man who'd already made his choice.

"It wasn't cigarettes, James. It was something else. Something the family was trying to keep hidden from everyone."

"What?"

"I can't tell you over the phone. Meet me. Tonight. The old boatyard on Harborside. I'll tell you everything I know."

*It's a trap. Vale knows you were at the warehouse. He knows Vin is scared. He'll be listening.*

"Vin—"

"Just meet me, James. I'm trying to help you. Please."

The line went dead.

James stared at the phone in his hand, his heart racing.

*A meeting at the old boatyard. A shipment that wasn't cigarettes. Vin asking for help.*

*It's a trap. You know it's a trap. But you have to go. You have to find out what's in that shipment. You have to know.*

He pocketed the phone and started walking.

---

The old boatyard was a graveyard.

Fishing boats sat rotting in the water, their hulls cracked and their decks collapsed. The docks were splintered, the warehouses abandoned. It was the kind of place where people went to disappear.

James arrived at midnight, ten minutes early.

He stood in the shadows of an old boathouse, his Glock in his hand, his eyes scanning the darkness. The water lapped against the pilings, a sound like whispers in the dark.

"James."

Vin's voice came from behind him. James spun around, his gun coming up—

Vin held up his hands. "Easy. I'm alone. I didn't bring anyone."

James lowered the gun. "What's in the shipment, Vin?"

"Drugs. Prescription drugs. Opioids, mostly. The kind that sell for a fortune on the streets." Vin stepped closer, his face pale in the moonlight. "The family's been running them for years. Marco, Vale, Sal—they all knew."

*Your family deals in poison. Your family kills people by the thousand.*

"Where do they come from?"

"I don't know. A source. Someone connected to the Syndicate." Vin shook his head. "I've been moving them for years, James. I didn't ask questions. I just did what I was told."

"And Morrow found out?"

"Someone told him. Someone gave him the information he needed to shut it down." Vin's eyes met his. "Someone in the family."

"Vale."

"I don't know. I think so. But I can't prove it."

James paced the dock, his mind racing. "If Vale was behind Morrow's death, then he's been planning this for a long time. He knew about the shipment. He knew I was supposed to be there. He set me up."

"I know." Vin's voice was shaking. "I'm sorry, James. I wanted to tell you earlier. I wanted to warn you. But Vale threatened my family. He said if I told anyone, he'd have them killed. My wife. My kids. Everyone I love."

James stopped pacing. "Where are they now?"

"Safe. I moved them last night. A friend of mine, someone I trust." Vin's voice broke. "I didn't want to betray you, James. You're like a brother to me. But I didn't have a choice."

*He's telling the truth. He's scared. He's trying to make things right.*

James holstered his gun. "You didn't betray me. You're doing what you can. And that's enough."

Vin nodded, his eyes shining with tears. "Thank you. For understanding."

"Now tell me the rest. What did Vale want with the shipment?"

"He wanted to destroy it. That's why he killed Morrow. He wanted to pin it on you and make sure the evidence was gone."

"And the body? What happened to the body?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there. Vale told me he had it taken care of."

James felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. "What about Tessa? The federal agent who was with me in the warehouse?"

Vin shook his head. "I don't know. She's disappeared. No one's heard from her since that night."

*She's dead. Or she's in hiding. Or she's one of them.*

James forced himself to breathe. "I need to go. I need to find her."

"James—"

"I'll be in touch. Don't tell anyone we met tonight."

Vin nodded. "I won't."

James turned to leave—

And then he heard the sound.

A click. The unmistakable sound of a gun being c****d.

"I'm sorry, James."

Vin's voice was different now. Flat. Cold. The voice of a man who'd already made his choice.

James spun around—

And found himself facing the muzzle of Vin's gun.

"I'm sorry," Vin said again. "But Vale gave me a choice. My family. Or you."

"Vin—"

"I'm sorry."

Vin pulled the trigger.

---

The sound of the shot echoed across the water like a thunderclap.

James felt the impact, the shock of the bullet slamming into his chest. He staggered backward, his hands coming up instinctively, his body screaming in pain—

*I'm dead. He shot me. I'm dead.*

But the pain didn't come. The bullet didn't penetrate. It had hit the folder in his coat pocket, the one Blair had given him, the one that had absorbed the impact.

*Blair saved your life. An accident. A miracle.*

James dropped to the ground, his hand going to his holster. He pulled the Glock and fired, three shots in quick succession, the bullets ricocheting off the concrete.

Vin dove behind a crate, his gun still raised. "James! Wait—"

"Shut up! You shot me! You tried to kill me!"

"I didn't have a choice!"

"Everyone has a choice!" James fired again, forcing Vin to stay behind cover. "You could have said no! You could have warned me!"

"Vale would have killed my family!"

"And he killed my family! He killed my father! He killed my mother! And you helped him!"

Vin's face was pale with terror. "James, please. I can explain—"

"There's nothing to explain. You made your choice. And now you have to live with it."

James stood up, his gun trained on Vin's hiding place. His chest was burning, the impact of the bullet leaving a bruise that would last for weeks. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely breathe.

*Kill him. He tried to kill you. He's a traitor. He deserves to die.*

But he couldn't.

Vin was like a brother. Vin had been there for him, had fought alongside him, had bled for him. And now he was standing on the wrong side of a gun, begging for his life.

"I'm not going to kill you, Vin. But I'm not going to let you walk away either."

James stepped closer, his gun still trained on the crate. "You're going to stay here. You're going to wait until I'm gone. And then you're going to go back to Vale and tell him I'm dead."

"What?"

"You're going to tell him you killed me. That my body fell in the water and was swept away. That I'm gone forever."

Vin's face was a mask of confusion. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I need him to think I'm dead. So I can find the truth." James's voice was cold, hard, the voice of a man who'd already died once and wasn't afraid of dying again. "And when I do, I'm going to tear everything down. The Moretti family. The Valerios. The Syndicate. Everything."

Vin lowered his gun. "James..."

"This is goodbye, Vin. I hope you can live with yourself."

James turned and walked away into the darkness.

Behind him, he heard Vin's voice, broken and desperate: "James, wait—"

But James didn't stop.

*He had to kill me. He did it to save his family. But he didn't have to enjoy it.*

*And now we're both alone.*