The Thief and The Smuggler

14: Unwelcome News

Unwelcome News

Gabriel DeMarco stood in the spacious living room of DeMarco Mansion, the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He swirled the whiskey in his glass absently, his sharp mind focused on the next phase of their operation.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, the name "D. Clarke" flashing across the screen. He frowned, setting his glass down before answering.

"What is it?" Gabriel asked, his tone clipped.

The voice on the other end belonged to his contact in the Wisconsin Police Department—a man whose loyalty Gabriel had secured years ago.

"We've got a situation," Clarke said, his voice low. "Interpol's been sniffing around. Couple of their officers arrived this morning, asking questions. They've been talking to top brass. Something about a 'pattern' in recent heists."

Gabriel's jaw tightened. "Did they mention me?"

"No names, but they're digging deep. They know something's up. Thought you should know."

Gabriel's hand clenched into a fist. "Good. Keep me informed if they make any moves. And Clarke—make sure no one in your department starts getting curious about why I'm involved."

"Understood," Clarke replied, before the line went dead.

Gabriel tossed the phone onto the couch with a force that made Alina Rivera glance up from her seat by the poolside doors. She'd been reviewing their plans for the next phase, but the sudden shift in Gabriel's demeanor pulled her attention.

"Bad news?" she asked, already guessing the answer.

"Interpol," he spat, pacing across the room like a caged predator. "They're starting to connect the dots. I thought we were careful after the New Delhi job, but apparently not careful enough."

Alina stood, her brows knitting together in concern. "Gabriel, we planned this perfectly. They don't have anything solid, do they?"

"They don't need solid," he growled, his voice laced with frustration. "All they need is a thread, and they'll unravel everything. I warned Toro about keeping the local authorities clean. If this Clarke idiot screws up, we're burned."

Alina crossed the room, her voice calm but firm. "Hey. Look at me."

Gabriel stopped pacing, his eyes locking with hers. She stepped closer, her expression steady but soft.

"We've been through worse," she reminded him. "This is just noise. They can poke around all they want, but they'll hit a wall. Toro's got us covered on the tech side, and I've handled every job cleanly. We're fine."

His jaw relaxed slightly, though the tension in his shoulders remained. "Fine doesn't cut it, Alina. You know what happens if they get close. They don't just take us down—they destroy everything I've built. Everything I've worked for."

"And that's not going to happen," she said firmly. "Because you're the one who taught me how to stay ten steps ahead. We're not amateurs, Gabriel. You built this empire for a reason."

Her words seemed to reach him, the storm in his eyes subsiding just a fraction. Gabriel exhaled, running a hand through his hair before picking up his glass of whiskey.

"You're right," he muttered, though the frustration lingered in his tone. "I just don't like being hunted."

"No one does," she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But you've got me, Toro, and every other piece on this board working to keep us untouchable. We'll handle this."