Chapter 6 - The Traitor Within
Emma unbolted the heavy steel door and swung it open.
Dante stood on the threshold. His charcoal sweater was stained with soot and a streak of blood across his shoulder, but his posture was upright, his weapon holstered, and his eyes burned with cold, merciless fury.
Before Dante could even speak, Elena lunged forward, throwing her arms around his neck and signing furiously against his chest: “You idiot! You absolute fool! Why do you stay in this life? Why didn't you leave when you had the chance?”
Dante wrapped his arms around his mother, burying his face in her silver hair, his own eyes closed tightly as he absorbed her wrath and her terror. He signed back with one hand, clumsy but clear: “I stay so you never have to run again, Ma.”
Emma stepped back into the shadows of the bunker, giving them a moment of private reconciliation. But as she looked past Dante into the lit hallway, she noticed Sal standing by the kitchen threshold, leaning heavily against the wall, holding a bloodied handkerchief to his side.
Wait.
Sal’s injury from earlier—the bullet graze on his side.
Emma’s architectural mind, trained to notice structural anomalies and hidden flaws, suddenly clicked pieces together with terrifying clarity.
Earlier tonight, Sal had claimed the rival crew ambushed the convoy because they "knew the exact route and the manifest."
How could a rival crew possibly know the exact route of a top-secret syndicate shipment unless someone from the inner circle—someone with high-level clearance—had leaked the coordinates?
And who had been standing right beside Dante when the manifest was finalized yesterday afternoon?
Sal.
Emma’s breath hitched. She slowly backed away from the doorway, her eyes darting toward the security monitor console. On screen two, the live playback of the front courtyard showed Sal pulling a heavy, suppressed automatic pistol from inside his jacket while Dante was still busy securing the perimeter—and Sal wasn't aiming at the front doors.
He was aiming directly at the doorway of the panic room.
"Dante!" Emma screamed, lunging forward with every ounce of strength in her body.
Dante’s tactical instincts kicked in with supernatural speed. He shoved his mother behind his back, whipped his pistol out of his holster, and spun around.
CRACK! CRACK!
Two gunshots echoed through the narrow hallway with deafening intensity.
Sal stumbled backward, his weapon clattering onto the marble floor as a red bloom spread across his chest. He staggered against the wall, coughed up a spray of dark blood, and slid down to the floor, dead before he hit the ground.
The hallway fell into absolute, eerie silence once more.
Dante stood motionless, his pistol still raised, smoke curling from the barrel. He stared down at the body of his most trusted capo, his face turning the color of ash.
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"Sal," Dante whispered, the name tasting like poison on his tongue. "Thirteen years... you were like a brother."
Elena emerged from behind Dante, looking down at the dead traitor with eyes devoid of shock. She had lived in this world long enough to know that betrayal was the only constant currency among wolves. She signed slowly to her son: “Power doesn't protect you from snakes, Dante. It only attracts them.”
