Chapter 9 - The Final Stitches
Victor Moretti looked around at his dead men, then back at Gabriel. The old man realized in an instant that his entire empire, built over forty years of bloodshed and corruption, had collapsed in a single night.
“What do you want, Gabriel?” Victor whispered, his hands trembling as he raised them slowly into the air. “Name your price. Money. Territory. The Atlantic casinos. I’ll sign them all over to you.”
“You tried to poison me from the inside, Victor,” Gabriel said, stepping closer. “You used a coward’s weapon. You didn't even have the courage to put a bullet in my chest yourself.”
Gabriel reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small glass jar. Inside lay the seven strands of black, toxic industrial thread that had been removed from his shoulder.
He held the jar up in front of Victor’s face.
“Do you know what this is, Victor?” Gabriel asked softly.
Victor stared at the jar, sweating profusely. “It’s... it’s just thread...”
“It’s the mistake that brought you down,” Gabriel said.
He handed the jar to Sadie. Sadie took it, looking at Victor with calm, unyielding eyes.
“You thought nobody would notice,” Sadie said to the old crime boss. “You thought doctors only look at bloodwork and scans. You thought a maid wouldn't know the difference between surgical silk and marine nylon.”
Victor glared at Sadie with sudden, desperate hatred. “You... you were the one? A nobody? A cleaning girl ruined everything?”
“She isn't a nobody, Victor,” Gabriel said, his voice turning to pure ice. “She is the future of my organization.”
Gabriel turned to Marcus. “Take Victor to the docks. Have him execute the transfer deeds for Pier 19, the casino licenses, and his shipping lines before sunrise. Once the papers are verified by our new legal team... dispose of him.”
“No! Gabriel! Please!” Victor screamed as Marcus and two heavy enforcers dragged the weeping mob boss out toward the harbor doors.
The warehouse went quiet again, save for the hum of the overhead floodlights and the distant sound of ocean waves crashing against the wooden piers outside.
Gabriel turned to face Sadie.
The harsh white spotlights reflected in his dark eyes, but the coldness that had been there for weeks was completely gone when he looked at her.
He stepped closer, reaching out to gently unclip the heavy tactical vest from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.
“Are you alright, Sadie?” he asked softly.
“I’m fine, Gabriel,” she said, using his first name for the first time.
Gabriel took her hand in his. His grip was strong, warm, and steady. He looked down at her hands—the hands that had worked in a garment shop, mopped floors in a mansion, and saved a king from his own court.
“You saved my life, Sadie Brooks,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register that resonated deep within her chest. “And you destroyed my enemies. I promised you that you would never go back to mopping floors.”
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“What happens now?” Sadie asked, looking up into his eyes.
“Now, you run this empire with me,” Gabriel said, a brilliant, breathtaking smile spreading across his sharp features. “I need someone who sees the wrong stitches before they kill us.”
