Chapter 8 - The Hunt
Ten miles away, inside the executive penthouse of Pier 9, Gabriel Rossy sat at his mahogany desk, reviewing the monthly fuel bills.
Beside his elbow, his private red cell phone buzzed.
He picked it up, pressing it to his ear. "Gabriel."
There was no voice on the other end. Only the sound of roaring car engines, muffled wind, and then a clear, confident female voice echoing through the speaker:
"Gabriel will kill you for this. He will find this meatpacking warehouse, and he will tear you and Julian Moretti apart."
Gabriel stood up so fast his heavy leather chair slammed violently against the glass window behind him.
His storm-gray eyes turned into twin infernos of pure, lethal fury.
"Viktor!" Gabriel roared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings like thunder.
The heavy office doors slammed open, and Viktor rushed inside, holding his radio. "Boss?"
"Dominic betrayed us," Gabriel spat out, pulling his heavy tactical shoulder holster from the closet, strapping two dark iron handguns across his chest. "He set up a trap. The Morettis have Clara at the old meatpacking district on 12th Street."
Viktor’s jaw dropped in shock. "Dominic? Sir, he’s in the downstairs server room right now—"
Before Viktor could finish his sentence, Gabriel strode out of the office and down the private staircase.
Dominic was standing near the main data racks, holding a leather briefcase filled with stolen bearer bonds, getting ready to slip out through the loading dock.
He heard the heavy footsteps, turned around, and went deathly pale. "G-Gabriel! What are you doing down here? I thought you were—"
Gabriel didn't waste a single word.
He closed the distance like a leaping panther, grabbed Dominic by his throat, and slammed him face-first into the metal server rack.
CRASH!
Dominic shrieked in pain as blood poured from his broken nose.
"Where in the 12th Street district is she?" Gabriel growled, his hand tightening around Dominic’s throat until the traitor’s eyes began to roll back in his head. "Tell me in three seconds, or I will drop you into the harbor with lead boots."
"Building... Building Four!" Dominic choked out, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "The cold storage unit! Julian is waiting for you there!"
Gabriel slammed Dominic’s head against the server rack one final time, knocking him unconscious, and tossed him to the floor like trash.
Gabriel turned to Viktor and six heavily armed tactical operatives standing in the hallway.
"Lock down Pier 9," Gabriel commanded, drawing his heavy dark handgun, racking the slide with a terrifying metallic CLICK. "The rest of you, get in the SUVs. We are executing every Moretti soldier on 12th Street."
Thirty minutes later, three black armored SUVs tore through the snowstorm, blowing through red lights, drifting around icy corners, roaring toward the abandoned meatpacking district.
Inside the lead vehicle, Gabriel sat in the front passenger seat, his eyes fixed on the snow-covered windshield. His hands were steady on his weapon, but inside his chest, a storm of absolute terror was raging.
He remembered his sister’s cold, lifeless face twenty-four years ago.
He remembered the vow he had made in the alley outside Clara’s building.
You are never going to have to fight alone again.
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"Two minutes out, Boss," Viktor called from the driver's seat, pulling a short tactical shotgun from the console. "Building Four is surrounded by an eight-foot chain-link fence. They have at least eight armed guards posted outside."
"Don't stop at the gate," Gabriel said, his raspy voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute death. "Drive straight through it."
