Chapter 3: The Shadow of Judas
The safehouse was an abandoned industrial bakery nestled along the rusted banks of the canal. The windows were blacked out, and inside, surgical lamps cast a sterile white glare over stainless steel tables.
Evelyn worked frantically, slipping an IV line into Clara’s frail wrist while administering a cocktail of stimulants and detoxifying agents. Bruno sat statue-still at the foot of the table, his amber eyes tracking every movement of the needle.
“Her heart rate is climbing. Twenty-two beats... thirty-five,” Evelyn breathed, wiping sweat from her brow. “Her lungs are clearing.”
Gabriel leaned over the table, tears finally breaking past his iron façade as Clara’s eyelids twitched. “Daddy’s here, baby. You’re safe.”
In the corner of the room, Gabriel’s encrypted satellite phone vibrated against the counter. It was a burner line known only to four lieutenants. He tapped the receiver.
“Boss? Where did you take the body?” Marco’s voice sounded distorted, laced with nervous static. “The parish priest is panicking. The syndicate elders are demanding an explanation. Salvatore wants to know why the burial was interrupted.”
Gabriel looked at Bruno. The dog’s ears flattened at the sound of Marco’s voice through the speaker.
“Tell Salvatore the burial is postponed,” Gabriel said calmly, masking the storm inside him. “Tell him I am taking personal time to mourn in isolation.”
“Where are you, Gabriel? I can bring the security detail to you. You shouldn't be alone.”
“I’m never alone, Marco,” Gabriel replied, and hung up.
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He crushed the SIM card beneath his boot. Marco hadn't asked if Clara was truly alive; he had only asked where she was.
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