Chapter 10 - The Traitor Unmasked
The deafening roar of gunfire echoed across the empty docks, bouncing off the steel hulls of the cargo ships before dying away into the damp night air. In the span of three seconds, it was over. Marcus and his men had swarmed the mercenaries, disarming them with brutal efficiency and slamming them face-first onto the cold concrete.
Gabriel pushed himself up from the floorboards, his chest heaving as he checked himself for wounds. He looked down at Tessa, who was brushing glass shards off her jacket with trembling fingers, her face pale but her eyes blazing with adrenaline.
"Are you hit?" Gabriel demanded, his voice laced with an intensity that went far beyond mere boss-and-operative concern.
"I'm fine," Tessa breathed, taking a shaky breath as she sat up. "Just a few more grey hairs, Mr. Rossi."
Gabriel let out a harsh, relieved breath, extending a hand to help her up. Together, they pushed open the bullet-riddled door of the sedan and stepped out onto the damp concrete. The cold harbor wind whipped their hair around as they walked toward the center of the pier where Marcus was dragging the lead mercenary to his feet.
The mercenary’s tactical helmet was knocked askew, revealing a bleeding cut across his forehead and a sneer of pure defiance carved across his face. But it wasn't the mercenary that caught Tessa's attention. As Marcus hauled the captive forward, a second figure was shoved out from the back of the black van—a man wearing an expensive tailored suit completely ruined by salt spray and mud.
Tessa’s breath caught in her throat. She recognized him instantly. It was Richard, the general manager of Ilvento.
Richard was sobbing hysterically, his face the color of spoiled milk, his expensive Italian loafers squelching in a puddle of dirty water. "Please! Don't kill me! I had no choice! They threatened my family! They said if I didn't give them the shipment schedules, my daughter..."
"Shut up, Richard," Gabriel snarled, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deathly whisper. He walked slowly toward the trembling manager, every step carrying the heavy, crushing weight of an executioner. "You worked for my family for ten years. We put food on your table, we paid your debts, and you sold us out to the Moretti syndicate for a fistful of blood money."
"It wasn't just money, Gabriel!" Richard shrieked, falling to his knees in the dirt. "They would have killed us!"
"Better you than my father," Gabriel said coldly, pulling a heavy, silver-plated pistol from his shoulder holster and raising it with steady, unhesitating precision. The muzzle hovered directly between Richard's wide, terrified eyes.
The entire pier went deathly silent. The enforcers stood like statues. Marcus watched impassively, waiting for the final word. Richard opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out—only a pathetic, ragged wheeze.
"Wait."
The single word cut through the heavy air like a scalpel. Gabriel froze, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. He slowly lowered the barrel by an inch and turned his head.
Tessa stepped out from the shadow of the sedan. She walked slowly toward the center of the circle, her face carved from stone. She looked down at the whimpering manager who had screamed at her in the restaurant kitchen, who had treated her like garbage while secretly plotting the destruction of the very people who fed him.
"Don't kill him here, Gabriel," Tessa said quietly, her voice ringing clear against the sound of the crashing waves. "Don't let his blood stain your hands on the open docks. Take him back to the basement. Let him face Don Salvatore. Let the old man decide what a traitor's life is worth in the old language."
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Gabriel stared at her, a flicker of profound respect and dark fascination igniting deep within his black eyes. He slowly lowered the gun completely, sliding it back into its holster.
"You're right," Gabriel said softly, a dangerous smile touching the corners of his lips. "Father loves a traditional trial."
