Chapter 5 - Night of the Wolf
The abandoned shipping terminal on the docks of Newark, New Jersey, was a graveyard of rusted shipping containers, dark warehouses, and crashing ocean waves.
At 2:00 AM, rain began to fall in heavy, icy sheets, slanting against the dark concrete.
Inside the primary warehouse, Victor Moretti sat at a makeshift desk, a bottle of cheap vodka and a loaded shotgun resting beside him. At fifty-eight, Moretti was a broken, desperate man. His syndicate was ruined, his brothers were in federal prison, and his remaining men were low-level mercenaries paid with stolen cash.
"Where is Vance?" Moretti growled, looking at his lieutenant, a scarred brute named Jimmy. "He was supposed to report two hours ago!"
"His phone is dead, Boss," Jimmy replied nervously, checking the assault rifle in his hands. "Something's wrong. We should move to the secondary safehouse."
Before Moretti could answer, the heavy steel doors of the warehouse blew inward with a deafening explosion.
Concrete dust and iron shrapnel rained down as flashbang grenades detonated inside the space, blinding Moretti’s men.
Through the thick smoke and flashing red lights, black-clad tactical operators poured into the warehouse with terrifying precision. Suppressed gunfire echoed softly through the vast space—pt-pt-pt—as Moretti’s guards were neutralized before they could even raise their weapons.
Moretti scrambled behind a stack of wooden crates, grabbing his shotgun, his heart hammering in his chest like a trapped bird.
Through the clearing smoke walked a single figure.
Gabriel Cross wore a dark raincoat over his suit, a heavy pistol held casually in his right hand. He walked with slow, measured steps, completely unbothered by the gunfire around him. Behind him, Marco and ten elite operators formed an impenetrable wall of death.
"Victor," Gabriel’s voice echoed through the vast warehouse, calm, smooth, and terrifyingly clear. "You're looking old."
Moretti squeezed the trigger of his shotgun, firing blindly around the corner of the crates. The blast blew a hole in a nearby oil drum, but Gabriel didn't even flinch, stepping smoothly to the left as Marco’s men suppressed Moretti's position with heavy fire.
"Cross!" Moretti screamed from behind the crates, his voice high and hysterical. "You ruined my family! You put my brothers in iron! You took my territory!"
"You surrendered your territory the day you tried to hijack my shipping lines, Victor," Gabriel replied, walking closer, his boots crunching on broken glass. "I left you alive five years ago out of pity. A mistake I deeply regret."
"I broke into your ex-wife's house!" Moretti cackled madly, trying to draw Gabriel out. "I saw the pictures on the fridge, Gabriel! Three little boys! Three little Crosses! I was gonna cut their throats and send them to you in boxes!"
The air in the warehouse instantly turned to liquid ice.
Gabriel stopped walking. The calm demeanor vanished, replaced by a dark, primordial rage that horrified even Marco.
Gabriel didn't wait for his men. He moved like a shadow, vaulted over the wooden crates, and slammed into Moretti before the older mobster could pump another shell into his shotgun.
The shotgun flew across the concrete floor. Gabriel grabbed Moretti by the throat, slamming his heavy head onto the concrete floor with brutal force.
Moretti shrieked in pain as Gabriel pinned him down, placing the barrel of his 9mm pistol directly against Moretti's forehead.
"Say their names," Gabriel whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute death. "Say my sons' names again, Victor."
Moretti stared up into the eyes of Gabriel Cross and realized he was looking into the face of a demon. All his bravado evaporated, replaced by pure, paralyzing terror.
"Please..." Moretti wept, blood streaming from his nose. "Please, Gabriel... mercy..."
"You targeted my wife," Gabriel said softly, his thumb pulling back the hammer of the pistol with a sharp click. "You targeted my boys. There is no mercy in this world for men like you."
Thwip.
A single suppressed shot echoed through the dark warehouse.
Gabriel stood up slowly, wiping a spot of rain from his lapel. He didn't look back at the lifeless body on the concrete. He turned to Marco, who was already signaling his team to secure the scene.
"Clean it up," Gabriel ordered flatly, handing his weapon to Marco. "Make sure the federal authorities receive the full evidence packet connecting Moretti’s network to the illegal weapons trade. Let them close the book on the Moretti syndicate forever."
"Yes, Boss," Marco said, looking at his leader with immense respect. "And what about you?"
May you like
Gabriel looked at his watch. It was 3:30 AM.
"I'm going home," Gabriel said quietly, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. "My family is waiting."
