Chapter 5 - The Scalpel and the Scent of Blood
Within two minutes, an iron door at the back of the warehouse swung open.
A tall, middle-aged Asian man with silver-streaked hair and a sterile medical kit rushed into the lighted living area.
Dr. David Chen did not ask questions.
He didn't ask why an impoverished woman with a soaking trench coat was sitting on Gabriel Rossy’s custom leather sofa.
He simply dropped to his knees beside Maya, pulled a stethoscope from his pocket, and pressed it against the child’s small chest.
“Bilateral wheezing with severe subcostal retractions,” Dr. Chen said briskly, his fingers moving with clinical precision.
“Her oxygen saturation is dropping fast. We need to administer nebulized albuterol and steroids immediately.”
Claraara stood up to assist, but the moment her left boot touched the concrete, her sprained ankle gave out entirely.
She stumbled sideways with a gasp of agony.
Before she could hit the floor, Gabriel caught her around the waist with one powerful arm.
He lifted her effortlessly, setting her down on the adjacent leather armchair.
“Stay still,” Gabriel ordered, his voice brooking no argument.
He knelt down, unlaced her ruined boot, and slid it off her foot.
Her left ankle was swollen to the size of a grapefruit, purple and angry.
“You walked three miles through freezing rain on a fractured bone,” Gabriel murmured, his thumb gently pressing the swollen tendon.
Claraara hissed through her teeth, her hands clutching the leather armrests.
“I had to save my daughter. You don’t understand what it’s like to have nothing left to lose.”
Gabriel looked up from her foot, his gray eyes locking onto hers with an unsettling intensity.
“I understand better than anyone alive in this city.”
Across the coffee table, Dr. Chen pressed a clear plastic oxygen mask over Maya’s face.
A fine white mist hissed from the portable nebulizer machine.
Maya stirred weakly, crying softly into the plastic cup.
“Mommy... Mommy, it hurts to breathe...”
“I’m right here, my love,” Claraara cried, leaning forward despite the blinding pain in her leg.
“Breathe the sweet air, baby. Just breathe.”
Gabriel stood up and stepped beside Dr. Chen.
“Will she stabilize?”
“The nebulizer is working, but her lungs are severely inflamed from the dampness and cold,” Dr. Chen answered, adjusting the flow valve.
“She needs forty-eight hours of warm, temperature-controlled rest, continuous oxygen therapy, and high-dose intravenous antibiotics. If she had spent another hour in that freezing tenement, her lungs would have completely collapsed.”
Claraara let out a ragged sob, burying her face in her trembling hands.
The cake.
If she hadn’t walked into Russo’s Patisserie asking for expired cake, she would never have met Gabriel.
She would have stayed asleep in that apartment when Falcone’s hitmen kicked the door down.
Or Maya would have slipped into a fatal coma in that freezing bed.
A sudden sharp buzzing shattered the quiet tension of the warehouse.
Gabriel pulled a secure encrypted satellite phone from his pocket and pressed it to his ear.
“Speak.”
A gravelly voice sounded through the receiver, loud enough for Claraara to catch the panic in the tone.
“Boss, Falcone’s crew found the tenement empty. They tore the place apart and found Vance’s old files in the ventilation shaft. They know she headed toward the docks. They’re running license plates and checking surveillance cameras along the riverfront right now.”
Gabriel’s jaw set into granite.
“How many men did Falcone deploy?”
“Three vans. At least twelve armed enforcers led by Luca Moretti. They’re sweeping every commercial pier within twenty blocks.”
Gabriel’s expression didn't change, but the air around him grew ten degrees colder.
“Lock down the pier gates. Deploy the perimeter sensors. If a single Falcone vehicle enters Pier 4, light them up.”
He terminated the call and slid the phone back into his holster.
Dr. Chen looked up from Maya’s bedside, his face pale.
“Gabriel, we cannot move this child right now. Moving her into a cold car will trigger a laryngospasm. She has to stay on this ventilator.”
Claraara looked from the doctor to Gabriel, her heart freezing in terror.
“They’re coming here? You brought us into a slaughterhouse?”
Gabriel turned toward her slowly.
He walked to a heavy steel equipment locker against the concrete pillar, unlocked it with a fingerprint scanner, and pulled out an assault rifle and two spare magazines.
He racked the bolt with a sharp, terrifying mechanical click.
May you like
“No, Claraara,” Gabriel said, his voice entirely devoid of fear.
“I brought you to the only place in this city where the monsters die instead of you.”
