Chapter 8: The Traitor's Fall
The air was cold, pre-dawn mist, a thick, gray soup that clung to Luca's coat and made the world feel small and muffled. He moved with a practiced stealth, a new kind of confidence in his movements. The System's Probability Grid, a shimmering, internal compass, guided him through the labyrinthine streets. He was a shadow among shadows, a quiet presence in a sleeping city. He slipped the coded note under the heavy wooden door of the Garrison, a simple act that felt momentous. The note, a simple piece of paper, was a weapon. The greatest weapon in the world, if you knew how to use it.
He used the System's Probability Grid to avoid a patrolling guard, a casual, almost effortless maneuver that felt like a victory in itself. He had done it. The spark had been lit. Now, he just had to wait for the fire to catch.
The System's success message was a powerful reinforcement for Luca. He saw that his true strength wasn't in brute force but in intelligence and manipulation, a game he knew how to play. He wasn't a gangster; he was a strategic mind. The thought was intoxicating.
The confrontation was brutal. Arthur Shelby, his eyes burning with a dangerous fire, was a man unhinged. The secluded warehouse was a place of broken boxes and dust, a place where secrets came to die. Arthur held the note in his hand, a small, crumpled piece of paper that had turned his world upside down.
"Don't lie to me, Billy," Arthur growled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. "There's a phantom in this city, and it's telling secrets."
Billy, his face a mask of terror, stammered, his words a desperate, jumbled mess. "I swear, Arthur, I didn't mean no disrespect..."
Arthur's fury was a living, breathing thing. He grabbed Billy by the lapels and slammed him against a stack of crates. He interrogated him, a series of sharp, brutal questions, until the truth, a bitter, humiliating thing, came spilling out. The information was confirmed, and with it, Arthur's paranoia about a "phantom" solidified into a terrifying obsession. He was no longer hunting a man; he was hunting a legend.
In a fit of rage, Arthur punched a crate of cabbages, sending them spilling all over the floor. The moment was so absurd, so mundane, a silly counterpoint to the brutality of the scene. The cabbages, like green, pulpy brains, rolled across the floor, a stark reminder of the raw, unpredictable nature of Arthur Shelby. He brutally punished Billy, a violent, unhinged act that was meant to send a message. But the message it sent was one of fear, not of control.
The news of Billy's punishment spread like wildfire through the Peaky Blinders' ranks. A ripple of fear and suspicion, a poison that seeped into every corner of the organization. Luca, a silent observer from a distance, watched with Finn as the news spread, his Gambler's Calm a cool, detached mask. He had created chaos, and the thought filled him with a grim satisfaction. He was a puppet master now, pulling the strings of an entire organization.
The System's warning was a cold, hard slap in the face. He had won the battle, but the war, he knew, had just begun. He had exposed a traitor, but in doing so, he had exposed himself. He had played a dangerous hand, and now he had to deal with the consequences.
"A small spark," Luca thought, a small, triumphant thrill in his heart. "Now let's see how hot this fire gets." The System's warning about a new threat, "Threat Level," was a new mechanic, a new variable in his game. He was no longer just a pawn. He was a force. A force that was now a direct target. He and Finn immediately began to plan their next move, knowing they were no longer just hiding. They were now a target. A phantom had been spotted, and the hunt, a brutal, merciless hunt, had begun.
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