Gabriel - 6
And I'm here to make sure none of them walk away from it.
The warehouse looms ahead, a gray brick tomb with boarded windows and a single flickering light above the entrance.
As I gather my gear, Sofia's face flashes through my mind.
Those deep eyes that seem to see right through me, the way she flinched when I touched her at the party.
The memory of her makes my hands clench around my rifle.
And now Luca has her.
The thought sends a surge of rage through me.
Focus. The job comes first.
I find my entry point—a broken window near the fire escape—and start my climb. The rusted ladder refuses to budge, but I pull myself up anyway, muscles straining as I haul myself onto the roof.
Inside, the warehouse air reeks of fuel and dust. Russian voices echo below as they inspect their shipment, completely unaware of what's coming. I settle into position, rifle trained on the men below. This is what I do best—dealing death to those who threaten the family.
The scope gives me a perfect view of the Russians. It would be so easy to start shooting, to let the familiar rush of violence take over. But for a split second, I see Sofia's eyes again, the way she looked at me that night.
Focus, dammit.
I exhale slowly, steadying my aim. The Russians moved in on our territory, threatened our family. They need to learn what happens when you cross the Bonventis.
These Russians need to die. Everything else—including thoughts of her—can wait.
I take the first shot, and the Russian closest to the semi drops instantly. Blood sprays across the white truck as chaos erupts below. They scramble for cover, but my position gives me the advantage.
Two more shots, two more bodies hit the ground. Clean. Efficient. The way I've always worked.
Another tries to run for the door. My bullet finds him before he makes it halfway. The warehouse falls silent except for the whimpers of their leader, cowering behind a stack of crates.
Perfect.
I take aim and catch him in the shoulder, then the ankle. He won't be running, but he'll live long enough to talk.
Making my way down, I ensure each body I pass won't be getting up again. The leader's screaming now, fumbling for his weapon. I'm faster. One more shot disarms him, and he's left bleeding and defenseless.
"Who sent you?" I ask, my voice cold.
He shakes his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Wrong answer."
I drag him to a steel beam and secure him with rope from my pack. His pleas echo through the warehouse, but they fall on deaf ears. This is business, and I need answers.
"The hit at the Irish party," I say, grabbing a rusty iron bar. "Why?"
For a moment, Sofia's terrified face flashes through my mind—the way she looked when the shooting started. I grip the bar tighter, using the memory to fuel my rage.
"Ivan thinks it's time for Enzo's run in Chicago to end," he finally spits out.
Ivan fucking Morozkin. The Siberian.
I bring the bar down on his leg. The crack of bone is satisfying. "What does that mean?"
Through his screams, he gasps, "He wants him out. All of you damn Italians out."
"And the Irish?"
Another strike.
"Why attack both families?"
"A message," he barely gets out. "A warning."
I pause, looking at him. "Was there a target?"
"Please. I just run the trucks..."
I go to swing the iron bar again, and he puts up his hands to stop me.
"The Irish! They wanted something," he finally breaks. "They’ve been making deals behind Enzo's back. But Ivan changed his mind. Wants everything for himself."
Fuck.
The implications hit me hard. The Russians and Delaneys working together? This could change everything.
I pull out my burner phone, call Nicky to come and deal with taking the semi back to one of our warehouses. Then I end the Russian's suffering with a single shot.
Driving away, I dial Enzo. He needs to know everything.
"Gabriel. What is it?" His voice is sharp.
"We've got a situation. A big one." I take a deep breath, preparing myself for his reaction.
Enzo's voice lowers. "What happened?"
"I did the thing. Spoke to one of them, and it turns out they were working with the Delaneys until the Siberian decided he didn't need them."
Silence fills the line, and I hear Enzo's breathing become heavier. "The Irish? You sure?"
"The Russian was in no position to lie."
Enzo’s quiet before speaking. "Did he say why? What the fuck happened between them?"
"Seems Ivan pulled the plug on splitting Chicago. Guess the hit at the party was to let the Delaneys know."
I take a deep breath and wait for his response, knowing this stings. We've had a good relationship with the Irish for a long time. Enzo's friendship with them goes back at least 20 years or more.
"Christ. The Russians and the Delaneys working together—what a goddamn mess," Enzo says with a heavy sigh. "Stay sharp, Gabe. There's no telling what anyone will do next."
Enzo ends the call before I can respond.
I toss the phone aside and press harder on the gas.
My knuckles whiten against the steering wheel as I think of Luca's hands on her, touching what should be mine.
The engine roars as I weave through empty streets, trying to outrun thoughts of her.
Of how she's probably with Luca right now. Of how damn wrong that feels.
Focus on work. On the coming war. On anything but her.
But even as my car tears through the night, I know it's useless. Sofia's already under my skin, and sooner or later, I'll have to do something about it. Taking her from Luca might start another battle, but I don't give a fuck what it costs. I've never been good at denying myself what I want.
For now, though, I have a war to prepare for.