Chapter 37 - The Voice Above the Table
Inside the private dining salon of La Trattoria del Lago, the air went completely dead.
Through the audio feed, I heard the sudden screech of a chair leg scraping against polished hardwood.
*“Who the hell is that?”* Matteo Rossi’s voice barked through the speakers, sharp with sudden paranoia. *“Turn that damn radio off!”*
*“That isn't the radio, Uncle,”* Gabriel’s voice came back, smooth as silk, carrying a lethal edge of triumph. *“That’s the translator. The one you thought you left behind in Europe.”*
I leaned closer to the microphone in the cold locker bay, watching Julian squirm in agony on the floor before me.
"Councilman Costello," I spoke clearly, projecting my voice through the restaurant's ceiling speakers. "Before you let Matteo give the signal to the detectives outside, you might want to look at your personal tablet. My uncle Arthur just transmitted the banking records from the Caledonia shipment to the United States Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois."
*“What is she talking about?”* Costello’s panicked voice cut through the feed. *“Matteo, you told me Vance’s daughter had no access to the ledgers!”*
*“She doesn't!”* Matteo roared. *“Kill the feed! Take Gabriel down now!”*
A violent crash erupted through the speaker—the sound of heavy mahogany flipping over, china shattering against walls, and the deafening roar of automatic gunfire echoing inside an enclosed room.
"Gabriel!" I shouted into the mic, my heart dropping into my throat.
Gunshots tore through the audio line in rapid, rhythmic bursts—three shots, a pause, two shots, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floorboards.
*“Costello, stay down!”* Gabriel’s voice cut through the chaos, steady, commanding, and very much alive. *“First District detectives, drop your weapons or you leave this room in body bags! Look at your phones! The Federal warrant was issued two minutes ago! You’re guarding a dead man!”*
Through the laptop screen, Arthur’s diagnostic monitors showed three separate data streams locking into the Chicago Police Department dispatch network.
"The feds just raided the First District precinct," Arthur reported, a grim smile touching his cracked lips. "The dirty cops in that room aren't going to pull a trigger for Matteo now. They’re thinking about thirty years in Terre Haute."
Over the restaurant feed, the sound of two handguns clattering onto the floorboards confirmed Arthur's words.
*“Traitors!”* Matteo screamed, his voice turning into an unhinged screech. *“Cowards! I built this family! I own this port!”*
*“You built nothing, Matteo,”* Gabriel said, his footsteps crunching over broken glass, growing louder as he approached the microphone near the center of the room. *“You stole from my father. You murdered Thomas Vance. And you put a contract on a boy who had more courage in his little finger than you’ve had in your entire miserable life.”*
A single gunshot cracked through the speaker.
Then, absolute silence.
I gripped the edge of Arthur’s metal worktable, my knuckles white, barely daring to breathe. "Gabriel?" I whispered into the mic.
A second passed. Two.
*“The room is clear, Maya,”* Gabriel’s voice came through, breathing slightly harder now, but unbroken. *“Matteo is down. Costello is in custody. Where are you?”*
"Canal Street," I said, a ragged sigh of relief escaping my chest. "Locker 114. We have Arthur. We have the primary server." I looked down at the bleeding man curled on the concrete. "And we have Julian."
A long pause hung over the line.
*“Julian?”* Gabriel’s voice dropped into a register so dark it made the hair on my arms stand up. *“Julian is with you?”*
"Julian was the fifth man at the table, Gabriel," I said. "He ordered the hit on Leo. He set the fire at Highland Park."
*“Don't let him bleed to death,”* Gabriel said, the line clicking with the sound of a magazine being ejected and reloaded. *“I want him breathing when I arrive.”*
I lowered the microphone.
Julian lay staring at the ceiling, his face gray from blood loss, his breathing shallow and rapid. "You think... you think you won, Maya?" he whispered, his eyes rolling toward me. "You think Gabriel is going to let you walk away from this?"
"Shut up," I said, keeping the gun trained on his chest.
"Gabriel is a Rossi," Julian coughed, dark blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. "He’s a monster who wears expensive suits. The moment this is over... he’ll look at you and see the daughter of the man who failed him. You’ll just be another loose end."
"My father didn't fail," I said, stepping closer, looking directly into his fading eyes. "He died protecting the truth you tried to burn. And unlike you, Gabriel knows what loyalty costs."
Fifteen minutes later, the heavy iron doors at the end of the warehouse corridor groaned open.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed across the concrete.
Gabriel stepped into the pool of fluorescent light. His charcoal suit coat was torn at the shoulder, a smear of soot across his cheek, his tie loosened. In his right hand, he held a black leather briefcase; in his left, the silver pocket watch from his coat.
He stopped at the edge of the cage. He looked at Arthur, nodding with deep, silent respect. Then he looked down at Julian.
Julian tried to pull himself backward, his broken leg dragging across the floor, terror finally replacing the arrogance in his face. "Gabriel... listen to me... Matteo forced my hand... he threatened my sister..."
Gabriel didn't answer. He didn't even raise his weapon.
He simply reached into his pocket and tossed a small, charred piece of paper onto Julian’s chest.
It was the corner of a shipping manifest from Slip Nine, burned at the edges, but bearing Julian’s forged signature in waterproof ink.
"Signora Rossi sent that from the chapel," Gabriel said quietly. "My mother has a very long memory, Julian. And she never forgets a betrayal."
Two large men in dark coats stepped out from behind Gabriel, their faces stone-cold, carrying heavy zip-ties and medical trauma kits.
"Take him to the basement on 24th Street," Gabriel commanded. "Keep him alive until the federal marshals finish taking Councilman Costello’s deposition."
The men hoisted Julian up without a word. Julian screamed as his broken leg shifted, but his cries were quickly muffled by a heavy cloth pressed over his face as they dragged him down the dark aisle toward the loading dock.
The warehouse fell silent again.
Gabriel turned to me. He stepped forward, his eyes searching my face, lingering on the dark bruise blooming across my cheek.
He reached out, his bare thumb brushing gently against the edge of the swelling.
"Your father's body has been recovered from the port office," Gabriel said softly. "He was untouched by the fire. He was resting in the archives. We’re bringing him home, Maya."
The dam broke. The tears I had held back through the flight from Europe, through the cold chapel of Saint Jude’s, and through the bloody fight in the dark finally spilled over.
I leaned forward, burying my face into the heavy wool of Gabriel’s coat. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me against his chest, shielding me from the cold concrete and the smell of gunpowder.
"It's over," I sobbed against his collar. "It's finally over."
Gabriel held me tight, but over my shoulder, his gaze lifted to Arthur’s laptop screen, where the federal dispatch lines were still flickering with incoming traffic.
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"Not yet," Gabriel murmured into my hair. "Matteo was a soldier. Julian was a thief. But the man who funded the Caledonia’s cargo... the man who chartered the ship from Antwerp... wasn't sitting at Table Seven."
***
