Eighty

Chapter 80

The old docks were shrouded in fog, the salty air heavy with the stench of decay. Antonio’s men had surrounded the warehouse, their movements precise and silent. Inside, tension crackled like electricity in the air. Thomas, cornered and desperate, gripped a hidden blade beneath his coat, his mind racing with thoughts of escape—or revenge.

Antonio entered the dimly lit warehouse, his sharp footsteps echoing off the walls. Behind him, Ben followed cautiously, his eyes scanning the room for threats. Marcus and a few other men spread out, forming a loose perimeter around Thomas.

“It’s over, Thomas,” Antonio said, his voice calm yet threatening. “You have no way out.”

Thomas’s eyes darted between Antonio and the others. “No way out?” he sneered, attempting to mask his fear with false bravado. “You think you’ve won? You don’t even know who you’re up against.”

Antonio stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “Then tell me. Who are they? Who’s pulling your strings?”

Thomas hesitated, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He glanced at Ben, who stood slightly to Antonio’s right, and something shifted in his expression—a spark of desperation, or perhaps an idea.

“You want names?” Thomas said, his tone suddenly conciliatory. “I’ll give you names. But only if you let me go.”

Antonio smirked, shaking his head. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”

“Oh, really?” Thomas suddenly pulled out a knife, lunging toward Ben. The warehouse exploded into chaos. Marcus and the others raised their weapons, but the confined space and Thomas’s sudden attack left them momentarily frozen.

Ben’s eyes widened as he stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding Thomas’s blade. Antonio moved with lightning speed, grabbing a metal rod from a nearby crate and striking Thomas’s wrist. The blade clattered to the floor, but Thomas wasn’t done.

“You think you can stop me?” Thomas growled, this time lunging at Antonio. The two men grappled, their movements brutal and relentless. Thomas’s desperation made him stronger, but Antonio’s training and precision gave him the upper hand. With a swift motion, Antonio twisted Thomas’s arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees.

“Enough,” Antonio hissed, his voice filled with cold fury. “You’re not in control here.”

Thomas let out a harsh laugh, blood dripping from a cut on his lip. “You’re too late, Antonio. They already know everything. Taking me down won’t stop them.”

Antonio tightened his grip, his knuckles whitening. “Who are they?” he demanded. “Tell me, or I’ll make you regret it.”

Before Thomas could answer, one of Antonio’s men stepped forward, holding a phone in his hand. “Sir, we found something in his coat pocket,” he said, showing a burner phone. “It’s encrypted, but we can crack it.”

Antonio released Thomas, shoving him roughly toward Marcus, who secured him with handcuffs. “Make sure he doesn’t try anything else,” Antonio ordered, his eyes never leaving Thomas.

Ben approached cautiously, his breathing still uneven. “Antonio, are you okay?”

Antonio nodded curtly. “I’m fine. But you?” He glanced at Ben, noting the faint tremor in his hands. “That was too close.”

Ben tried to steady himself, offering a weak smile. “I’m alive. That’s what matters.”

Antonio turned back to Thomas, his voice ice-cold. “You tried to kill my man. You’ve made this personal.”

Thomas grinned through bloodstained teeth. “It’s always been personal, Antonio. You just didn’t realize it.”

Antonio’s patience snapped. He stepped forward, grabbing Thomas by the collar. “If you think I’ll let you play games with me, you’re sorely mistaken. Now tell me, who gave the order?”

Thomas remained silent, his grin fading into defiance. Antonio’s grip tightened, but before he could press further, Marcus intervened.

“Sir,” Marcus said, his tone measured. “We should take him back to the safe house. He’ll talk eventually.”

Antonio exhaled sharply, releasing Thomas with a shove. “You’re right. Take him.” He turned to Ben. “You need to get checked out. Go back with the others. I’ll handle the rest.”

Ben hesitated but nodded, knowing better than to argue. “Be careful, Antonio. He’s more dangerous than he looks.”

Antonio’s gaze hardened. “I know.”

As Thomas was dragged away, his taunting laughter echoed through the warehouse. Antonio watched him go, his mind racing. The burner phone was a clue, but it wasn’t enough. Whoever Thomas worked for was still out there, and they wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted.

Outside the warehouse, the night air was thick with tension. Antonio lit a cigarette, the glow briefly illuminating his face. Marcus approached, his expression grim.

“What’s the plan now, sir?” Marcus asked.

Antonio exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes narrowing. “We crack that phone. And we find out who’s next on their list.”

Marcus nodded, his jaw set. “Understood. We’ll keep Thomas secure until he talks.”

Antonio’s lips curled into a grim smile. “He’ll talk. They always do.”

The sound of engines roared to life as the convoy prepared to leave. Antonio climbed into his car, the weight of the night settling heavily on his shoulders. As the vehicle pulled away, he glanced at the phone in his hand, its screen dark but filled with secrets waiting to be unraveled.

This was far from over.

Antonio arrived at the estate late at night. The chill of the night air seeped into his bones, but as he stepped inside, the warmth of the house enveloped him. The dim lights illuminated the quiet living room, casting a serene yet evocative atmosphere. Slowly, he made his way toward Cassandra’s room, feeling as though the world outside had finally faded away.

The door to the room was slightly ajar, and Antonio stood at the threshold, peering inside. There, on the large bed, Cassandra lay sound asleep. Her face, often marked by tension, now appeared peaceful, as if all the burdens of life had momentarily lifted.

Antonio stepped in silently, moving closer to the bed. Cassandra’s soft, steady breaths created a soothing rhythm. Her hair spilled over the pillow, and the blanket that wrapped her made her look both fragile and strong at the same time.

He sat in the chair beside the bed, watching his wife sleep. In the quiet of the night, Antonio felt something he rarely did—peace. All the chaos he had faced throughout the night, all the looming threats, seemed to vanish as he gazed at Cassandra.

“You don’t know how important you are right now,” he whispered softly, more to himself than to her. He reached out for her hand, which rested limply at her side, and held it gently. The warmth of her skin flowed through him, washing away the exhaustion that weighed on his shoulders.

He sat there for a long time, simply savoring the moment. The outside world, with all its chaos and dangers, seemed to no longer exist. All that remained was her.