Plot

Chapter 8 - The Midnight Shipment

Down in the subterranean briefing room, the atmosphere was thick with tension.

Dante stood over a massive digital tactical map displayed on the central table, tracking the GPS coordinates of a major arms shipment moving through the Port Aurelia docks. Marcus and two syndicate capos flanked him, their faces grim.

"The shipment from the Sicilian contacts is flagged," Marcus reported, tapping a key on the console. "Local authorities have set up a perimeter three blocks from Warehouse 4. Someone tipped them off."

Dante’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He didn't raise his voice, but the sudden drop in temperature in the room was palpable. "Tipped them off? Who knew about the exact route besides the four men in this room?"

The capos immediately exchanged panicked glances, stepping back and shaking their heads.

"It wasn't us, Boss! Swear on my life!" one of them stammered.

Dante slowly straightened up, his gaze locking onto Marcus. "Marcus?"

"It wasn't me, Dante," Marcus said, holding his ground, though his eyes darted nervously toward the exit. "Why would I compromise our own operation? But... if I'm being honest, there is someone else with access to the core network now."

Dante’s jaw tightened. "Keep going."

"The girl," Marcus said smoothly, planting the seed of suspicion with surgical precision. "Emily. She’s been locked in the east wing with unrestricted access to the guest terminal for twenty-four hours. For all we know, she’s an informant planted by a rival faction to bring us down from the inside."

For three agonizing seconds, the room was dead silent. Dante stared at Marcus, his face an unreadable mask of absolute stone. The thought of Emily being a plant clawed at the back of his mind—it would explain how a civilian happened to be standing right where Brutus bolted, how she managed to tame a beast that refused everyone else.

"Bring her down here," Dante ordered quietly.

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"Boss—"

"I said, bring her down here," Dante repeated, his voice laced with sudden, terrifying finality. "Let'p see if she has an explanation for where her loyalties lie."

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