Chapter 8 - The Enemy of My Enemy
Dawn arrived over the harbor as a pale gray slit between industrial clouds.
Inside the climate-controlled sanctuary of Warehouse 19, the air remained dry and warm.
Dr. Chen had wrapped Claraara’s fractured ankle in a rigid fiberglass cast, providing her with a lightweight aluminum crutch.
Maya had finally awakened, sitting propped against oversized pillows while eating a bowl of warm oatmeal prepared by Mateo.
The child seemed completely unaware of the war that had raged outside her window hours earlier.
To Maya, the vast warehouse with its polished cars and glowing fireplace was an enchanted castle.
“Is that gentleman a superhero?” Maya whispered, pointing a spoon toward Gabriel as he reviewed satellite maps on a flat screen across the floor.
Claraara managed a faint, sorrowful smile, smoothing down her daughter’s hair.
“He’s... someone who is helping us get home, sweetheart.”
Gabriel walked over, holding two porcelain mugs of black tea.
He handed one to Claraara and offered a small wrapped mint to Maya, who took it with wide, reverent eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Rossy,” the little girl chirped politely.
Gabriel’s expression softened for a fraction of a second, the harsh lines around his mouth relaxing.
“You’re very polite, little bird,” he said quietly before turning his attention back to Claraara.
“The drive is fully decrypted. Vincent’s tech team finished parsing the ledgers twenty minutes ago.”
Claraara leaned forward on her crutch, lowering her voice so Maya wouldn’t hear.
“What does it show?”
“It shows that Marcus wasn’t just skimming money,” Gabriel explained, his voice low and dangerous.
“He was setting up a backdoor pipeline to sell Falcone’s distribution routes to a rival syndicate out of Chicago.”
“So Falcone wants him dead for treason, not just a gambling debt,” Claraara realized.
“Correct. But there is something else.”
Gabriel pulled a printed sheet of financial transactions from his jacket.
“Six days before he abandoned you in the suburbs, Marcus transferred two hundred and fifty thousand dollars into a private offshore escrow account.”
Claraara felt the breath leave her lungs.
“He had a quarter of a million dollars while Maya was sleeping on a floor?”
“The account is locked under a dual-authentication protocol,” Gabriel continued.
“One key is on this titanium drive. The other key requires Marcus’s biometric signature.”
“Why did he set it up that way?”
“Because he knew that if Falcone caught him, he would need leverage to negotiate his release.”
Gabriel leaned against the edge of the dining table, folding his arms across his broad chest.
“Marcus told Falcone that you had the drive. He promised Falcone that if they brought you to the estate, he would unlock the funds and hand over the Chicago contacts.”
Claraara’s stomach churned with disgust.
“He wanted them to drag me there. He wanted to trade me for his freedom.”
“He assumed Falcone would kill you once the accounts cleared, leaving him an open window to escape during the chaos,” Gabriel said bluntly.
“Marcus never loved you, Claraara. He viewed you and that child as collateral assets.”
Claraara looked down at her wedding ring—a cheap, tarnished silver band she had refused to pawn during the worst months of starvation.
Slowly, deliberately, she slid the ring off her swollen finger.
She placed it on the mahogany table and shoved it into the center.
“What do we do now?” she asked, her voice steady and cold.
Gabriel picked up the silver ring, turning it between his thumb and forefinger before tossing it into the roaring fireplace.
The metal flared green in the flames and melted into the burning logs.
“We give Falcone exactly what he asked for,” Gabriel said, a predatory shadow crossing his scarred face.
“We bring the wife. We bring the drive.”
May you like
He stepped closer, his deep voice dropping to an intimate, resolute pitch.
“Only this time, the devil doesn’t get to bargain.”
