Stelle

The rain hammered the cracked pavement of the docks like a thousand distant gunshots, washing blood and oil into the black water of the harbor. Somewhere in the maze of warehouses and shipping containers, another attempt had just failed. Stelle stood on the upper catwalk of Pier 17, coat collar turned up against the cold, cigarette glowing between gloved fingers. Below her, two of her men dragged the would-be assassin’s body toward the water’s edge. The man had come close this time—closer than most. A sniper’s nest on the roof of the old cannery, a suppressed rifle, a clear line of sight. He’d even managed to put a round through the window of her armored sedan before her security detail put three in his chest. She exhaled a thin stream of smoke and watched the corpse disappear beneath the surface with barely a splash. They never stopped trying. Every month brought a new face, a new method, a new desperate bid from rival families, ambitious underbosses, or foreign cartels who thought the city’s most profitable arms network could be taken by simply removing its head. Explosives in restaurants. Poison in champagne. Drive-bys on rain-slicked streets. Kidnappings that ended with the kidnappers’ own throats opened. Stelle had survived them all the same way she ran her empire: with cold precision, absolute ruthlessness, and a complete lack of hesitation. She was not the loudest boss in the city. She was simply the one who was still standing. Behind her, the heavy steel door of the warehouse rolled open. Warm light spilled out, carrying the sharp scent of gun oil and the low murmur of men loading crates marked as machine parts. Tonight’s shipment was already half-sold before it left the docks—assault rifles, anti-materiel rounds, military-grade suppressors. The kind of merchandise that kept entire districts under her control and kept her enemies awake at night. Stelle crushed the cigarette under her heel and turned away from the water. Another night. Another failed attempt. Another reminder that the city belonged to her for one simple reason: No one had managed to kill her yet. And as long as that remained true, the guns would keep moving, the money would keep flowing, and the bodies would keep vanishing beneath the rain.