WHEN THE SHADOW KNEELS

A thick blanket of salt-scented fog clung to the rotting wooden pilings of the Old Pier. Dawn was merely a bruised purple smear along the eastern horizon when Dominic parked his unmarked vehicle half a mile away, advancing through the mist on foot.

The warehouse was a skeletal relic of rusted corrugated iron and broken skylights. High above, on the catwalks, Dominic spotted two snipers scanning the perimeter with thermal scopes.

Moving like a wraith through the shadows of stacked cargo containers, Dominic drew his suppressed pistol. He climbed an external iron ladder silently, coming up behind the first sniper. A quick twist of the neck silenced the man before he could touch his radio. Dominic eased the body down, retrieved the sniper's long rifle, and peered through the crosshairs.

Across the catwalk, the second spotter turned to check his partner. Dominic squeezed the trigger. The heavy round punched through the man's chest, dropping him into the shadows.

With the high ground secure, Dominic descended through an upper maintenance hatch, slipping into the cavernous interior of the warehouse.

Below, in the center of the concrete floor, Elena remained strapped to the iron chair beneath a solitary spotlight. Her head hung low, her clothes soaked in sweat and dried blood. Flanking her were four heavily armed Morozov mercenaries. Standing off to the side, checking an expensive gold chronometer, was his brother, Julian.

Julian was already there.

""Where is he?"" Julian demanded of Viktor, who stood near Elena holding an iron pipe. ""He said dawn. My men are in position outside to execute him the second he walks through the main doors.""

""He'll come,"" Viktor grunted. ""A man like Dominic doesn't abandon his debts.""

Dominic stepped out from the catwalk shadows directly above them, his voice ringing through the hollow steel rafters like rolling thunder.