Chapter 6 - The Inside Job
The digital glow of the tactical data-pad illuminated the grim angles of Julian Kade’s face as the horrifying truth settled over the room.
The ambush wasn't an external hit by a random rival syndicate. It was a carefully orchestrated corporate execution, designed to look like a hostile takeover while an internal traitor looted the Romano-Kade vault and seized control of the city's shipping lanes.
Julian slowly lowered the data-pad, his gaze sliding away from Camila and locking onto Marcus Diaz.
The security chief stopped moving his hand toward his holster. The easy, confident posture he had maintained for a decade vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness. Diaz let out a slow, heavy sigh, his lips curling into a thin, cynical smile.
"Well," Diaz said, his voice dropping all pretense of loyalty. "I always said the bookkeeping department was the most dangerous part of this company. I just never expected the accountant to carry a nine-millimeter."
Julian stepped away from the weight rack, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned translucent. "Six years, Marcus. I pulled you out of a federal penitentiary in Marseille. I gave you my trust, a seat at my table, and half a million dollars a year in security contracts. And you sold our shipping manifests to the Chicago syndicate?"
"Loyalty doesn't pay pensions, Julian," Diaz replied smoothly, his hand finally resting casually near his suppressed pistol. "You've grown soft. You spend half your time worrying about corporate optics, legal compliance, and municipal zoning permits while the old guard is starving for expansion. The syndicate offered a clean transition. All we had to do was eliminate you during a routine tactical drill."
"And the men who followed me outside my apartment last week?" Julian’s voice was a low, lethal growl. "Was that your scouts testing our perimeter?"
"That was just a warmup," Diaz chuckled darkly. "We wanted to see how well your little secretary handled pressure. Turns out, we severely underestimated her resume."
Diaz's eyes flicked to Camila, who stood motionless beside Julian, her expression like carved stone.
"I have to hand it to you, Miss Reyes," Diaz continued, his thumb resting lightly on his holster release. "When you applied for the secretary position eighteen months ago with forged credentials from an Ohio accounting firm, I thought you were just some ambitious college grad looking for high pay. But nobody hides a scar like that on their collarbone unless they spent four years in international deep-reconnaissance black ops."
Julian turned his head sharply toward Camila, his eyes widening in sudden revelation. "Deep-recon? You weren't an ordinary operative, were you?"
"My past employment history is classified, Mr. Kade," Camila replied evenly, not breaking eye contact with Diaz. "Though I agree with your assessment of Mr. cuyo—loyalty is indeed earned, not bought."
"Enough chatter," Diaz snapped, his eyes flashing with sudden malice. "You two fought hard, but you're standing in a closed bunker with no backup and empty magazines. Say goodbye to the empire, Julian."
Diaz’s hand flashed downward toward his holster with lightning speed.
He never cleared leather.
Before Diaz’s fingers could wrap around the grip of his weapon, a deafening crack echoed through the bunker.
Crack.
A single bullet tore through the center of Diaz’s right palm, shattering his metacarpal bones and sending his pistol spinning across the concrete floor in a shower of blood.
Diaz screamed, stumbling backward and clutching his mangled hand to his chest, his face draining of all color as he hit the concrete pillar behind him.
Julian didn't even flinch. He looked down at Camila, who was lowering her Beretta, the barrel still smoking faintly in the cool bunker air.
"You talk too much, Marcus," Camila said, her voice devoid of emotion as she stepped forward and kicked Diaz’s skittering pistol away from his reach. "A professional finishes the conversation before drawing."
Diaz collapsed against the pillar, groaning in agony as blood pooled rapidly around his boots.
Julian let out a long, slow breath, the terrifying tension in his shoulders finally easing as he looked from the bleeding traitor on the floor back to the quiet, composed woman standing beside him.
"Eighteen months," Julian muttered, a faint, incredulous smirk touching the corner of his mouth. "You sat outside my office for a year and a half, took my coffee orders, listened to me mock your lack of combat skills, and never once broke cover."
"Your espresso orders were remarkably specific, Mr. Kade," Camila replied deadpan, checking her magazine levels. "I didn't wish to ruin a productive working relationship over minor disagreements regarding physical conditioning."
Julian let out a short, sharp laugh—half disbelief, half genuine admiration. He reached out, gently taking the Beretta from her hand and setting it down on a nearby table, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that entirely redefined their relationship.
"You're not my secretary, Camila," Julian said quietly.
"My contract says otherwise," she countered smoothly.
May you like
"Your contract has just been officially upgraded," Julian replied, his voice dropping into a rich, resonant tone as a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Starting tomorrow, you're my Chief of Security. And God help anyone who tries to schedule an appointment without your approval."
Camila finally allowed a rare, ghost-like smile to touch the corners of her lips. "I'll update the calendar immediately, boss."
