Chapter 3 - THE CODE ONLY SIX PEOPLE KNEW
The first thing Gabriel heard was Clara’s breathing.
The second was metal scraping against the stairwell railing.
Someone was coming up.
Slowly.
Not trying to hide.
That was worse.
Gabriel moved toward the gun he had kicked across the room.
Clara whispered sharply.
“You said no weapons.”
“I said I wouldn’t use them on you.”
He found the pistol in darkness.
The emergency light from the alley cast a thin gray rectangle through the window.
Gabriel could barely see Clara.
“Bathroom.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“I’m not locking myself in a room with no exit.”
She was right.
He hated that she was right.
The footsteps reached the third floor.
Gabriel checked the magazine.
Loaded.
Then he remembered the second pistol and knife on the table.
He moved toward them.
Clara spoke again.
“There’s a fire escape.”
“Where?”
“Window beside the stove.”
He crossed the room.
The old frame stuck.
He forced it up.
Cold rain blew inside.
Four floors down, a metal staircase descended into the alley.
“Can you climb?”
Clara stared at him.
“I’m thirty-three weeks pregnant with a scar that tears every time I twist.”
Gabriel closed his eyes for half a second.
Stupid question.
The footsteps reached the landing.
Gabriel put one pistol into the back of his waistband.
He held the other low.
“Stay behind the wall.”
“I’m not helpless.”
“I know.”
“Then stop talking like I am.”
He looked at her.
Even terrified.
Even exhausted.
Still Clara.
The woman who had ordered three armed men out of an emergency room.
He nodded.
“Take the knife.”
“I already have it.”
Of course she did.
A shadow moved beneath the door.
Gabriel raised the gun.
Three knocks.
Not loud.
“Mr. Russo?”
Gabriel frowned.
A woman’s voice.
“Mr. Russo? Dr. Alvarez.”
Clara stared.
“That was fast.”
Too fast.
Gabriel did not move.
“Doctor, step away from the door.”
Silence.
Then:
“All right.”
“How did you get here?”
“The woman who called me said it was urgent.”
“Forty minutes.”
“I was ten blocks away at a patient’s home.”
Possible.
Gabriel looked at Clara.
She whispered, “Ask about the paper.”
“What?”
“Her paper.”
Gabriel spoke through the door.
“What was your research about?”
A pause.
Then the woman answered.
“Maternal-fetal outcomes after penetrating abdominal trauma and surgical recovery. Northwestern cohort, mostly second and third trimester.”
Clara exhaled.
“That’s her.”
Gabriel opened the door two inches.
A woman in her late forties stood alone.
Dark raincoat.
Medical bag.
Hands visible.
Angry expression.
“If you’re planning to shoot me,” she said, “I’d prefer you do it before I climb another staircase.”
Gabriel opened the door.
She entered.
Her eyes found Clara immediately.
Everything about her changed.
“Clara?”
“You know me?”
“I know of you.”
Dr. Sofia Alvarez set down her bag.
“You worked trauma at St. Catherine’s.”
“Before.”
Sofia looked at Gabriel.
“Out.”
He stared.
“I need—”
“Out.”
Clara almost laughed.
Not because the moment was funny.
Because history had repeated itself.
Gabriel Russo, feared across Chicago, was once again being ordered out of a room by a doctor who did not care who he was.
He looked at Clara.
“Do you want me out?”
“Yes.”
He left.
No argument.
He stood in the hallway.
His phone rang ten minutes later.
Vince.
“Boss, where are you?”
“Outside the apartment.”
“You need to move.”
“I know.”
“Dorian’s asking questions.”
“Where is he?”
“Went east.”
“Following orders?”
“No.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
“Track him.”
“Already trying.”
“Don’t alert him.”
“Got it.”
Gabriel ended the call.
Another message appeared on Dorian’s phone.
The unnamed number.
YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES.
Gabriel stared.
Then typed:
SHE DIDN’T TALK.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
YOU SAW HER?
Gabriel answered:
YES.
Response:
AND?
He thought carefully.
SHE’S SCARED. BLAMES BELL.
The reply came almost immediately.
GOOD.
Then:
FINISH IT.
Gabriel felt something cold settle inside his chest.
Finish it.
That was not Bell speaking to Dorian.
Or if it was, the dynamic was wrong.
Whoever was texting believed Dorian had direct access to Clara.
Believed Dorian would kill her.
Gabriel typed:
RUSSO WON’T LEAVE.
Response:
THEN KILL BOTH.
Gabriel’s face became still.
The apartment door opened.
Sofia stepped out.
Her expression was serious.
“What?”
“Her blood pressure is high.”
“How high?”
“High enough that I care.”
“Baby?”
“Heart rate is present. Strong right now.”
Gabriel exhaled.
“She needs imaging. Bloodwork. Ultrasound. Ideally a hospital.”
“She won’t go.”
“I know.”
“Can you treat her somewhere else?”
Sofia folded her arms.
“I’m an obstetrician, not a mobile ICU.”
“Private clinic.”
“I have privileges at a surgical center in Lincoln Park.”
“Bell may have people watching.”
Sofia’s eyes narrowed.
“Bell?”
Clara had apparently told her enough.
“Connor Bell?”
“Yes.”
Sofia stared at Gabriel.
Then at the closed door.
“What exactly have you dragged her into?”
Gabriel accepted the accusation.
“Something I’m trying to get her out of.”
Sofia studied him.
“You are Gabriel Russo.”
“Yes.”
“I know who you are.”
“I assumed.”
“I’ve treated two men shot in your clubs.”
He said nothing.
“I dislike you already.”
“Most intelligent people do.”
That surprised a tiny smile from her.
Then it vanished.
“She needs care.”
“Can you move her safely?”
“Yes, if we keep it controlled.”
“I’ll arrange a car.”
“No convoy.”
“No.”
“No armed men around her.”
Gabriel hesitated.
Sofia’s eyes sharpened.
“Mr. Russo.”
“No armed men she can see.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It’s the most I can promise while somebody is trying to kill her.”
Sofia stared.
Then reluctantly nodded.
“Fine.”
Gabriel called Vince.
One car.
Neutral plates.
Female driver.
No Russo security insignia.
Route changed twice.
He gave Sofia the address of an unused apartment owned through a legitimate real-estate company.
Not one Dorian knew.
At least Gabriel believed he did not.
That assumption terrified him now.
Clara emerged ten minutes later wearing the same gray sweater and carrying a tiny canvas bag.
That was all.
Eight months missing.
Three months in hiding.
Everything she owned fit inside something smaller than Gabriel’s gym bag.
He looked at it.
Then at her.
“I can carry—”
“No.”
He stopped.
Sofia took it instead.
Clara looked toward the stairs.
“Where are your men?”
“Gone.”
“You?”
“I’m staying here.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“I’m not going with you.”
That shocked her.
“Why?”
“Because whoever is watching expects me to.”
Gabriel held up Dorian’s phone.
“I’m going to give them something else to watch.”
Clara stared.
“You’re going after Dorian.”
“Yes.”
“Gabriel.”
He looked at her.
Her voice hardened.
“Do not turn this into a war.”
“It already is.”
“No.”
She stepped closer, forgetting for one second to fear him.
“That is exactly what you said after Fulton Market.”
He froze.
“You burned half the city trying to punish Bell.”
“Three of my men died.”
“And how many more died afterward?”
He had no answer.
Clara’s voice cracked.
“If Dorian did this, expose him. Stop him. But if you start another bloodbath because you feel guilty about me, then none of this changes anything.”
Gabriel lowered the gun slightly.
Sofia watched silently.
Clara continued.
“I am not an excuse for you to become worse.”
That sentence went through him.
He slowly put the gun back inside his coat.
“I hear you.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
He looked at Dorian’s phone.
“Find proof.”
“Not bodies?”
“Not if I can avoid it.”
She gave him a look.
“That is a terrible promise.”
“It’s the best I have.”
Clara shook her head.
Then winced as another pain hit.
Sofia immediately took her arm.
“We’re going.”
Gabriel stepped aside.
Clara walked past him.
At the top of the stairs, she stopped.
She did not turn around.
“If Dorian gave Bell my location eight months ago…”
Gabriel waited.
“…then somebody else probably helped him.”
“I know.”
“You said six people had the code.”
“Yes.”
“Do not assume the traitor is only one.”
Then she descended.
Gabriel watched until the building door closed.
Only then did he move.
He called Vince.
“Where is Dorian?”
“River North.”
“Alone?”
“Looks like it.”
“Matteo?”
“At Club Aurelia.”
“Marcus Trent?”
“Home.”
“Owen Vale?”
“Security office.”
Gabriel thought.
Six people.
Gabriel.
Clara.
Dorian.
Marcus.
Owen.
Matteo.
One code.
One false camera failure.
One woman kidnapped.
One war built on staged evidence.
Gabriel opened Dorian’s phone again.
He searched recent calls.
Nothing useful.
Messages.
Deleted.
Then he opened photographs.
Dozens of ordinary pictures.
Cars.
Documents.
A birthday dinner.
One screenshot caught his attention.
A security maintenance ticket.
SERVICE ELEVATOR CAMERA — UNIT FAILURE.
Date:
Three days before Clara vanished.
Submitted by Owen Vale.
Approved by Dorian Shaw.
Gabriel stared.
Two names.
Clara had been right.
Not one.
At least two.
He called Vince.
“Where’s Owen?”
“Security office.”
“Keep him there.”
“How?”
“Tell him there’s a payroll discrepancy.”
“Boss—”
“Do not scare him.”
“Understood.”
Gabriel walked downstairs.
Rain hit his face the moment he stepped outside.
He looked toward the alley where Clara’s secondhand apartment disappeared behind brick and darkness.
His phone rang again.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Russo.”
Silence.
Then a man laughed.
Gabriel recognized it instantly.
Connor Bell.
“Eight months,” Bell said.
Gabriel stopped walking.
“And you finally found the girl.”
Gabriel’s voice became ice.
“Where are you?”
Bell laughed again.
“Still asking the wrong questions.”
“Dorian works for you.”
“Does he?”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
“You staged the evidence.”
“Somebody did.”
“You took Clara.”
“Yes.”
At least Bell did not deny that.
Gabriel’s hand curled around the phone.
“If you touched her—”
“I didn’t make that scar.”
Gabriel froze.
Bell continued.
“You should ask your friend Dorian who did.”
Gabriel’s breathing slowed.
“Bell.”
“What?”
“If you know what’s good for you, disappear.”
Connor laughed.
“You think this ends with the lieutenant?”
A pause.
“Dorian was never mine, Gabriel.”
Then Bell said the sentence that cracked the case open.
“I was his.”
The call ended.
Gabriel stood motionless in the rain.
Dorian had not betrayed Gabriel for Connor Bell.
Dorian had used Bell.
Used the rival crew.
Used Clara.
Used Gabriel’s grief.
And if Bell was telling the truth, the attack at Fulton Market had never been about territory.
It had been an internal coup.
Gabriel looked toward River North.
Toward the clubs and towers that formed the heart of his organization.
For eight months he had been fighting the wrong enemy.
May you like
Now he knew where the real war had started.
Inside his own house.
