Chapter 40

**Torin POV.**

"You said you have something for me."

The new analyst nodded fervently. "Yes, yes." He pointed to the multitude of computer screens on display with a series of complex data. "From what I could gather from the re-written half that you have. There are documentations that were recorded before Gaza's parents could've been born. But there is also recent information."

My eyes jump to the screen in centre. He zooms into it, maximizing the image.

"Gaza inputted a roster of dirty cops on his payroll and I discovered all of their identities. Even the higherup agents that don't have identification numbers, but all have credentials listing their name, agency, and position title."

Impressed, I concede a small smile.

"And there's more." His fingers frolic across the keyboard and he pulls up several destinations. "There's also creditable locations on his stash pads, money houses that are bank rolling current drug operations—at least before you acquired the first book and before his death. Whoever is set to take over probably relocated them since the locations were compromised."

"Though we have our own." I skimmed over the roster with increasing satisfaction. "Nothing is more useful than dirty narks. I want a list of all of his, as well as the locations of his stash pads. Then send it to me."

He snaps a quick nod. "You got it, sir."

"What about the co-ordinates that led to Greece?" Theories clamour in my mind. "What could he have hidden there that was worth mentioning?"

He shrugged reluctantly. "That's just it, he didn't. The calligraphy of the recent information, within the last decade, correlates with Gaza's ascension in the Blood and Cartel. The co-ordinates to Greece, along with the other phonetic glyphs, including single-consonant characters that function like an alphabet; logographs, representing morphemes; and determinatives. Alike to hierographic writing which hasn't been used since Early Bronze Age, around the 32nd century BC. My guess is that it was not his doing or anyone from his organisation."

My eyes fill their sockets. "How is that even possible?"

"It's possible that the authors of Magnus Quique preserved the ancient writing, not only because for secrecy but also they believed that there was power behind certain letters and alphabets. Which is why there are ancient Hebrew symbols scattered throughout it. It's not random." He shifted uncomfortably. "But I will need... more to be able to decode the rest of it." He glances at the open journal nearby. "That is only half."

He looks at my reflectionin the screen. I give him a smirk.

"I know where I can get more."

I turn to leave.

"Wait!" he blurts, looking stunned by his own exclamation. He shakes his head ruefully, tilting his face down. "With everything—I—I," he stammers foolishly. "I can get the job done; I swear it."

I straighten myself out. "Of course, I have full faith in you." I walk behind him to clasp a hand on his shoulder. He flinches. "You're a valuable asset. What... did you think I was going to kill you?"

Fearfully, he peers over his shoulder to meet my gaze, answering my question with the mere glassy look in his eyes.

I free a hearty laugh. "You're funny."

I clap his back. He jolts forward dramatically.

"No, I'm not going to kill you." I run a hand down the silk lapel of my suit jacket. "And get blood splatter on my Dolce? Your life is perfectly in your own hands, my friend. As long as you remain an asset. But if you became a liability... well. I've many more suits. *Ciao*."

I whirl around and exit the lab. The doors are flanked by two guards.

I make my way to the third landing, passing through the hallway upheld by a sequence of decorative columns with pilasters, exaggerating the extent of the wall with intricate ornate detailing. When I eventually arrive at the corridor of her bedroom, there are no guards on patrol of the area.

I reverse to find the closest guard. And that's by the interconnected swivel staircase.

"Hey."

Two of them break away from their post to meet me halfway.

"Why isn't anyone guarding her room?"

They exchange disquieting looks.

Irritation pricks at me. "The fuck you gazing into each other's eyes for? Why isn't anyone guarding her room?"

"Tomoko and Shiro were guarding that sector until big boss dismissed them."

An artic chill washes over me like standing beneath icy falls.

I hurry back, accelerating my speed, terror grips me, my heart squeezed by the crushing compression. I burst through the door, not sure what I'm expecting to find but I'm expecting it to be bad. I enter warily, uncertain if he's still there or not. But he isn't. Hadassah is perched on the long sofa, her head hung, her thick veil of curls hiding her face from me.

"Hadassah?"

Creeping closer, I can now hear her anguished whimpering. I speed up, sinking into a lunge before her.

"Hey." Gentler. "What's—"

I try to touch her but she shrinks back from sheer fright. Which is unnatural. She looks up at me with pain and horror etched in her tear-teeming eyes. A fear that made this warrior-like woman nearly unrecognizable... which scares me.

"Hadassah." My mind malfunctioning, my eyes darting all over her pale-stricken face. "What...what happened? What did he do to you?"

She breaks into a larger sob, shaking her head unsteadily. She manages to reclaim a slither of her strength, enough to admit, "It hurts," she squeaks, "I showered three times... the blood won't stop."

I force myself to look down. A growing dark splotch stains the inner thighs of her jeans. I react instantaneously, collecting her in my arms and bolting out of the room. I scream at one of the guards to run ahead to the medical wing and have them prep the operating room.

A petrifying parallel that mirrors the day of the ambush in Saruga. A battered Orian carrying a half-dead Hadassah to the nearest Yakuza doctor. And now he is the cause of her pain.

Which doesn't surprise me at all. Disappoint me...fuck yeah.

On arrival, Richardson and another doctor took her away on a hospital bed. Two hours pass before someone from the medical team comes out to inform me of her condition.

She walks up to me. I stand up from the chair.

"A two hour fucking surgery? What the fuck can a dick do?"

She clears her throat awkwardly, struggling to main eye contact. "X-ray showed that her bowel was perforated, along with extragenital injuries that are all consistent with a vicious assault. Due to the force and brutal rigor, it led to severe lacerations."

"*Jesus.*" I look away shamefully as if I was the one who did this to her. But maybe I'm to blame. "Will she... will she be, okay?"

"Besides sustaining and surviving extreme injuries and a GSW from the ambush, that almost killed her. But there is also evidence of old contusions. And now with this... she has gone through a lot of physical trauma, I fear it will take a toll on her. But from what I've seen from the first time she was brought in here. She's fighter."

I nod too many times, anger welling up in my chest like a rising tide. "Prep another room."

"For who."

"My brother."