The terminal is a maze of containers and equipment left where it last stopped. Cranes loom overhead like giants, their long steel arms frozen in mid-motion, and abandoned forklifts cast spidery shadows across the cracked pavement below. Shippingcontainers form narrow corridors with no clear line of sight. Poles, cables, and loading pallets loom over the docks. Ships sit low in the water like silent ghosts.
I scan the docks, the water, the gaps between containers.
No Salvatore.
My grip tightens on the gun.
Where the hell did he go?
Then something catches my eye. A flicker of white where it doesn’t belong.
I stop. “Dominic.” I whisper.
He’s by my side in an instant, his gun drawn. “What?”
I don’t answer right away and instead step close to the edge of the dock. My heart hammers louder with each footstep.
It sits on top of one of the wood posts near the water. Intricately placed as if to send a message and blend in at the same time.
A chess piece.
My Dad’s chess piece.
The bishop.
It’s tall and slender with a rounded top. A narrow diagonal slit cuts into the head. The smooth, curved body widens slightly at the base as it stands out against the rusted steel and dark water below.
My chest tightens at the sight of the golden rosewood.
“Well, there’s our message,” Dominic mutters. “We’ve got to find Salvatore. Whoever put that piece there is going to kill him.”
Someone shouts.
I snatch the bishop and shove it into my pocket. We bolt to the east side of the dock. As we round the corner, my stomach lurches.
Salvatore stands at the end of the dock, facing the river with his hands raised. A tall figure in black stands behind him with a pistol pressed to the base of Salvatore’s skull.
The waves lap eagerly below, waiting to take him prisoner.
“Sal!” I scream before I can stop myself.
The figure pushes Salvatore away then whirls around and fires a few bullets at us.
Salvatore stumbles forward and jumps off the dock.
“Sal!” I scream.
Dominic yanks me back behind the crate as the bullets hit the steel with a ping.
Another shot follows.
Then another.
I return fire. Dominic shoots from the opposite side.
“Don’t kill him,” I shout. “We need to talk to him first.”
“We might not have a choice in the matter, Cipi,” Dominic fires another shot.
