Chapter 10 - THE AMBUSH
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The heavy steel handcuffs clicked shut around Carlo Marchesi’s thick wrists with a sharp, unforgiving snap.
His six enforcers had already dropped their weapons onto the wet gravel, kneeling with their hands clasped behind their heads.
Vittorio was sitting on an overturned wooden pallet, weeping openly into his sleeves like a frightened child.
Marco and eight tactical guards were busy loading the prisoners into the back of a secure transport van.
The rain had finally stopped, replaced by a biting northern wind that whistled through the crane cables.
Gabriel stood near the water’s edge, speaking quietly into his encrypted satellite phone with the heads of the Commission.
He was outlining the evidence of Marchesi’s treason, his voice steady, professional, and devastatingly concise.
I stood beside the hood of our SUV, watching the first pale streaks of pink dawn break over the horizon of Lake Michigan.
My fractured knuckles were throbbing with a dull, heavy ache, but my mind had never felt clearer.
In twelve hours, I had gone from being an unwanted bride sent to eat in the kitchen to standing on the frontlines of an empire.
I had seen the darkest corners of Gabriel’s world, and strangely, I was not afraid.
He was ruthless to his enemies, but to the people under his protection, his loyalty was an impenetrable fortress.
Suddenly, the sharp crack of a high-caliber rifle shattered the morning air from the southern rail bridge.
A bullet sparked violently off the steel hood of our SUV, missing my temple by less than four inches.
“Sniper!” Marco roared, diving toward me and shoving me down behind the armored engine block.
Gabriel moved with impossible speed.
Before the echo of the first shot could fade, he had vaulted across the open concrete and tackled me to the ground.
He threw his entire body over mine, shielding my head and neck with his broad chest and arms.
Another round punched through the rear windshield of our vehicle, showering us with diamond fragments of safety glass.
“Report!” Gabriel snarled into the tactical radio clipped to his shoulder.
“Two shooters on the old rail trestle!” the sniper team from the crane responded over the static.
“Marchesi had a secondary perimeter team in reserve!”
The surviving Marchesi guards in the transport van began shouting, trying to kick open the rear doors during the chaos.
Automatic gunfire erupted from the southern treeline as four black pickup trucks roared onto the dock, their tires throwing wet gravel into the air.
Vittorio scrambled to his feet, trying to run toward the attacking trucks with his hands waving frantically.
“Over here! Pick me up!” Vittorio screamed at the advancing vehicles.
A burst of machine-gun fire from the lead pickup truck cut through the morning air.
Vittorio didn't even have time to scream.
Three heavy rounds struck him in the chest, lifting him off his feet and throwing him backward into the freezing waters of the shipping slip.
The dark water swallowed him with a heavy splash, leaving only a widening crimson circle on the surface.
They weren't here to rescue Vittorio.
They were here to exterminate every witness who could link Carlo Marchesi to the botched coup.
“Marco, provide suppressive fire on the left flank!” Gabriel commanded, rolling off me while drawing his secondary weapon.
“Boss, we’re pinned down behind the engine block!” Marco yelled back, firing short bursts around the tire.
“Their trucks have mounted machine guns!”
I peeked under the undercarriage of the SUV, adrenaline drowning out the throbbing pain in my fractured hand.
The four attacking trucks were fanning out in a semi-circle, fifty yards away, preparing to lay down a crossfire that would shred our armored cover.
Directly above their path hung an enormous eighty-ton steel shipping container, suspended from the gantry crane by heavy cables.
The main control panel for the crane was located inside the small operator’s booth fifteen feet to my right.
“Gabriel!” I shouted over the deafening roar of automatic weapons.
“The crane!”
Gabriel glanced toward the operator's booth, instantly understanding my thought.
“The line is hot!” I yelled, remembering my father’s lessons during our summers inspecting the docks.
“The emergency release lever on that model drops the winch brake completely!”
“You can't cross that open ground, Catherine!” Gabriel shouted, his eyes wide with rare panic.
“They will cut you in half!”
“They’re shooting at you, Gabriel, not the booth!” I answered, my voice steady with fierce determination.
Before he could grab my jacket, I scrambled on my knees through the narrow drainage ditch running along the concrete wall.
Mud and freezing water soaked through my trousers, but I kept low, using the concrete lip for cover.
Bullets chipped the brickwork above my head, raining powdered red dust across my shoulders.
I reached the steel ladder of the operator's booth, hauled myself up using my good left arm, and kicked open the glass door.
Inside, the master console was glowing with red emergency lights.
I gripped the yellow emergency release lever with both hands, ignoring the blinding spike of agony in my fractured right knuckles.
With a ferocious scream of defiance, I threw my entire body weight backward, pulling the lever downward with everything I had.
A deafening screech of screaming gears tore through the morning sky.
The heavy winch brake snapped free.
The eighty-ton steel container plummeted from the crane catwalk sixty feet above the dock.
It struck the two lead pickup trucks with the force of an artillery shell, crushing the steel frames like aluminum soda cans into the concrete.
The concussive boom shook the entire slip, throwing the remaining two trucks sideways across the slick pavement.
The sudden, catastrophic destruction broke the attackers’ morale instantly.
The surviving shooters in the rear trucks jammed their gears in reverse, spinning their tires frantically as they fled back toward the highway.
Our snipers on the crane towers opened fire, disabling the tires of the fleeing trucks before they could clear the gate.
Silence fell over Slip Four once more, broken only by the hiss of steam rising from the crushed engines.
I leaned against the glass of the operator's booth, gasping for breath, my fractured hand trembling violently against my chest.
The door of the booth was ripped open, and Gabriel stood there, his chest heaving, his dark eyes wide with shock, relief, and awe.
He didn't say a single word.
He pulled me into his arms, lifting me off my feet, burying his face in my hair as if he would never let me go.
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“You crazy, magnificent woman,” Gabriel whispered against my throat, his voice shaking with fierce, overwhelming passion.
I wrapped my uninjured arm around his neck and held on for dear life.
