Chapter 32

**Torin POV**

"The cryptography is... unprecedented."

The analyst winnows through the pages of the journal, perusing over the complex depictions.

"But you're at a disadvantage. You need the original book. My predication is that the actual pages have an embedded key to decrypt the book like a cipher."

I stand behind his chair, watching from over his shoulder. "So you can't do it without the original?"

"No, but it would take much longer. Either way, with or without it, you would need high-grade machinery to generate computerised codes to crack the keys. Using brute force with a symmetrical algorithm would take... a long time."

My brows snap together.

He sneaks a glance at me. "It's the truth... this type of cryptography is multifaceted, layered with each addition of encoded information and there's a lot of it."

I release my frustration with a long breath. "What would you need to crack it?"

He snorts wryly, nudging his glasses up the bridge of his arched nose. "A super computer, oscilloscope, and lots of other gear." He closes the journal carefully. "But I'm afraid my expertise is limited when it comes to the expert level of tech skills needed to decrypt it."

My gaze traipses to the guard posted at the doorway; his hands crossed behind his back.

"But what I can tell you," he offers quickly, "Uh, is that the co-ordinates you showed me do trace back to Greece, specifically Athens. I mean, it won't just be sitting there, but I suppose the clue to next bearer is there."

I slide my hands into my pockets, nodding thoughtfully. "I heard we're not the only ones who want their hands on Magnus Quinque."

The analyst fidgets nervously, adjusting his tie like it's suddenly strangling him. "Uh... yes, it has caused quite a stir in the underworld. The fact that Gaza wanted the head of some PI because of what she stole; clearly not money or drugs. It drew a lot of attention."

Looming over him, I lean closer. "What else?"

"Giovanni Berlusconi, the head of the Italian mafia. It's rumoured he wants all of them, all five books. He's looking for leverage against the Americans, and apparently there are some damning secrets about high-ranking politicians."

A smile tugs at my lips. I straighten my spine. "And if I were to let you go..." I dawdle off. I motion the guard over with a jerk of my chin. "How do I know you won't report all you know to him? For obvious reasons... we're not looking to share this information."

His face blanches, draining of colour. "I—I know how to keep my mouth shut."

"Really?" I free my smile. "You seem pretty chatty to me... but I know how to fix that."

I step aside. The guard moves swiftly to stand in my stead, whipping out his gun and blasting a bullet through the back of his head. Blood splattering all over the desk, staining the journal. Suppressing a groan, I retrieve it, unfazed by the backsplash colouring my hand.

"You know what to do."

I leave the room. Sherly is just outside, gawking at me with fish eyes, dread bleaching her skin bone-white.

I hold up the journal, fortunately it has a hard cover. "Could you clean this up for me?"

I nearly laugh. She looks like she might throw up.

Sherly nods brokenly, eyes batting wildly as if to ward off tears. "Of course, Mr Moon." Her voice edged with fear. "I just... I just—chef sent me to tell you that lunch is ready."

"Wonderful, I'm starv —," I clap my hand on her shoulder forgetfully, leaving a bloody handprint. "Sorry about that."

She remains frozen on the spot. I journey two landings down to the dining hall of the manor, where the table is adorned with all my new favourite platters. Though we're back on the mainland, I still have a palate for seafood. I seat myself at the head of the table, easing myself into the chair comfortably. Rightfully.

I go for the grilled pesto scallops with balsamic glaze. Alongside a skillet gnocchi with creamy shrimp and asparagus. And to wash it all down with a bottle of Montrachet of Cote de Beaune. I dunk my hands into the washbowl, wisps of blood dyeing the water red. Not even halfway through enjoying the flavour-filled medley of crispy prawns.

Akio emerges like a speck in the Corinthian archway, dwarfed by the enormity.

Stunned, I lower the fork. "Akio." I flag him over.

He bobs his head and marches to me briskly.

"You're back?"

"Yes, sir. But I was told big boss was on another op?"

"And where did he send you?"

Curiosity crumples his forehead. "He... he didn't tell you?"

I smile tightly, restraining the agitation in my tone. "Orian doesn't answer to me."

"I was spearheading the op to grab Markov Sidorov."

Comprehension dawns on me. "To kill him?"

He shakes his head stiffly. "No, he said he wanted to do it himself."

*Motherfucking psychopath*. I drop my elbow on the verge of the table, tilting forward to massage the ache out of my head. "Where's he now, Akio?"

"He's in a cell."

I stand up fast, wood scraping against wood. I take up the napkin, cleaning my hands before I throw it back down. Akio and I head out. Two of his men tail us as we travel to the outdoor dungeon. We scale down the stairwell; I unbutton my suit blazer, shoving my hands back into my pockets. Approaching the line of corroded bars, Akio unlocks the gate of the third cell and pushes it aside. They all wait outside.

I stroll inside. A man sits slumped in shadows, breathing heavily.

"Who are you and what do you want from me?"

When I don't respond. I listen to a series of intense shuffling, chains rattling until he manages to haul his heft off the ground, standing to be eye-to-eye with me. His neck engraved with a collar of dense tattoos. His wrists bound by the chains that are integrated into the wall, holding him back.

Recognition flickers in his eyes, loosening his scowl. "I've seen you." His accent thick, each word pronounced roughly. "You work for Zenith."

I shrug it off. "That's a bit of an understatement." My eyes scan him up and down. No injuries apart from minor bruising and abrasions. "I see my boys treated you well."

"What do you want from me?" he barks.

"It's not what I want, Mr Sidorov. It's what my brother wants, the CEO of Zenith."

His face falls, scowl disappearing. "Orian Moon."

I frown back at him. "You know him, but not me?"

"Hard not to take notice of a dominant player in arms trafficking. Money laundering for powerful cartels like sangre y hueso. He's envied by many... feared by all."

The look of sheer distraught on his face sends a tantalizing thrill through me. "That's why you're here. You know the boss of that cartel, Gaza?" He meets my eye, his gaze fraught with conflict. "He was hunting down the same woman that nearly got you incarcerated."

"Suka," he cusses. "That's why I'm here? Because of her?"

I nod coolly. "Actually, you're here because of you. What you did to her. Do you remember?"

A vile grin grows on his face. "I taught her lesson. Multiple times."

A fresh swell of anger wells up in my chest. I launch a gut-wrenching punch at his stomach—he doubles over, coughing hoarsely. I step back timely. He throws himself forward, his arms fully outstretched behind him, subdued by the clanging chains. His face a breath away from mine.

"Save your energy." I sway my head considerately. "Not that you will need it. You won't survive what my brother is going to do to you."

***

I enter the bedroom.

Doctor Richardson is on the other side of the bed with a clipboard, documenting whatever he's taking notes on. He looks up to acknowledge me. Smiling amiably, he drops the board to his side.

"You still busy?"

He waves it off. "No, I was just checking in. Her vitals are good, she's stable. From having minimal brain activity, and depending on life support. Now she's finally breathing on her own. It's been a long road, but she's definitely a fighter."

My gaze is fastened on her. She's right there. But she might as well be a million miles away, her subconscious lost in an eternal sleep.

"I'll give you some privacy." He makes a start to the door. "I'll be back into morning. I'm hopeful she will wake soon."

My arm cuts down in front him of him like a barrier. He stops.

My eyes still entrapped by her, I say, "Doc, I just want to say thank you for everything."

"Just doing my job."

I pivot to face him. I clasp a hand on his shoulder, my thumb moving above his collarbone, targeting a pressure point in his neck. "And if you were to fail..." exerting steady force. The veins in his throat burst through prominently. He drops to one knee. "If she dies; you join her."

I release him. His breaths fall short and fast. He rises haphazardly, clutching his throat.

"Understood, Mr Moon."

I dismiss him with a nod. He scurries away like a kicked puppy, closing the door behind him.

I saunter to the side of the bed, snatching an armchair on my way before I set it down beside her. Hadassah's unkempt curls are sprawled across the pillow; its lustre faded. Radiant skin dimmed to a colourless timber but healed from all the old discolouration and contusions. If it wasn't for her being hooked up to a heart monitor, I wouldn't be convinced that she was alive. She's so still and silent—unnatural. I glance at the IV drip lodged into her arm. Slightly reassured that all is well, I lay back into the chair—hard knocks pound into the room.

My body lurches forward. "Fuck off!"

The door opens anyway. "Big boss on the line."

I push myself up, crossing the room in an instant. I take the satellite phone from him.

"Orian?"

Ear-piercing static makes me want to hurl it across the room. But I keep it close anyway. "Onii-san?"

The line goes silent.

I turn my gaze skyward.

His voice cuts through the background noise. "I'm going dark for the next twenty-four."

I liberate a bottled breath with a whooshing sigh. "Son of a bitch, you're still alive." I swivel around. The door closes. "That's all you called to say?"

"I want you to stop blowing up the comms."

Outrage tightens my chest. "The airplane carrier landed in Sinaloa two weeks ago. Sorry, if I wanted to make sure you weren't dead. But what am I saying? You'd probably end up in hell just for satan to send you back."

"How is she?"

"I'm doing great, thank you. You'd be glad to know that stocks are booming, profit revenue is up by eighty-nine percent in this last quarter—"

"Francesco."

He knows I hate being called that. "She's fine. As well as our new guest, Sidorov."

"Akio finally caught him?"

"Holed up as we speak."

His deep chuckle rumbles through my ear. "A two for one special."

"You sound too confidant for someone who's about to walk into a slaughter. Gaza's base is a notorious fortress. The military is even unable to infiltrate his base. It's basically no man's land."

"Which is why I have schematics of his entire compound, a layout of the interior, and an electromagnetic pulse to knock out the primary system. The difference between the military and me is that I have a different motive."