Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Penthouse
Sheree discovered three things about Gabriel Moretti during her first forty-eight hours in captivity.
First, he hated the word captivity.
Second, he had seventeen rooms but apparently slept in none of them.
Third, the most feared man in Chicago was a catastrophically bad patient.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You have a fever.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That isn’t how medicine works.”
Gabriel continued walking toward his office.
Sheree stepped in front of him.
He stopped.
Two guards standing nearby suddenly became fascinated with the ceiling.
Sheree pointed toward the sofa.
“Sit.”
Gabriel stared at her.
“Do people normally obey you?”
“No.”
“Then why do you keep giving orders?”
“Optimism.”
Anthony coughed into his fist.
Gabriel glanced at him.
Anthony immediately disappeared.
Eventually Gabriel sat.
Sheree removed the dressing.
The wound was inflamed.
“You tore two stitches.”
Gabriel looked down.
“They were poorly done.”
“You were drunk on discount vodka while trying to strangle your nurse.”
“Fair.”
Sheree cleaned the wound.
He watched her hands.
“You’re not afraid of me.”
“I’m extremely afraid of you.”
“You hide it well.”
“I work in an emergency room. I once had a naked man throw a urinal at my head because we ran out of orange gelatin.”
Gabriel laughed.
The sound surprised both of them.
Then his phone rang.
His face hardened.
He answered in Italian.
Sheree did not understand the words, but she understood tone.
Someone had failed him.
Badly.
Gabriel ended the call.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That sounded like very aggressive nothing.”
He stood.
Sheree caught his wrist.
“Your pulse is too fast.”
His eyes dropped to her fingers.
For a second, something passed between them.
Then he gently removed her hand.
“My brother is missing.”
The confession surprised her.
“Brother?”
“Matteo. Twenty-eight.”
“Was he with you when you were attacked?”
Gabriel nodded.
“We were meeting someone who claimed he had information about a traitor inside my organization. It was a trap.”
“What happened?”
“Matteo disappeared. I woke up behind your dumpster.”
Sheree finished taping the dressing.
“So whoever attacked you may have him.”
“Yes.”
“Then why threaten me?”
“To distract me.”
“Or because they think I know something.”
Gabriel looked at her.
Sheree remembered cutting away his clothes.
The coat.
The shirt.
The bruises.
Then something else.
“There was something in your coat.”
Gabriel went still.
“What?”
“A metal object. Small. I heard it hit the floor when I cut the lining.”
“Where?”
“My kitchen.”
Gabriel was already calling Anthony.
Within thirty minutes, men searched apartment 2B.
They found nothing.
But Mrs. Alvarez had seen someone enter the building shortly after sunrise.
A man wearing a St. Jude’s maintenance jacket.
Sheree’s stomach dropped.
“Someone from the hospital?”
“Maybe,” Gabriel said.
That evening, Anthony brought security footage.
A blurry figure appeared in the hallway outside Sheree’s apartment.
Sheree leaned closer.
Something about the man’s walk bothered her.
Then she recognized him.
“Pause.”
Anthony froze the image.
Sheree pointed.
“That’s Dr. Nolan Pierce.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“Who?”
“Trauma surgeon. Works nights sometimes.”
“Would he know where you live?”
“Employee records.”
Anthony immediately began making calls.
Sheree stared at the screen.
Nolan Pierce had always been kind to her. He brought coffee for the nurses. Covered mistakes without humiliating residents. Once drove Sheree home after a snowstorm.
It made no sense.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Gabriel took it before she could answer.
“Moretti.”
Silence.
Then a distorted voice.
“Put the nurse on.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
A scream sounded through the speaker.
Young.
Male.
Gabriel’s face changed.
“Matteo.”
Sheree looked at him.
The voice returned.
“The nurse found something that belongs to us.”
“I don’t have it,” Sheree said loudly.
Gabriel glared at her.
The caller laughed.
“She doesn’t know she has it.”
The line disconnected.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Sheree remembered.
The bloody coat was gone when she woke.
But not everything had disappeared.
She had emptied Gabriel’s pockets before cutting his clothes.
Keys.
Wallet.
Broken watch.
A small silver saint medallion.
She had placed them in a ceramic bowl beside her sink.
The bowl had been empty in the morning.
Except—
“No.”
She ran toward the guest room.
Gabriel followed.
Sheree grabbed her canvas work tote and dumped everything onto the bed.
Pens.
Receipts.
Gloves.
Protein bars.
A paperback.
Then something metallic struck the floor.
A tiny black flash drive.
Gabriel stared at it.
Sheree did too.
“I’ve never seen that before.”
Gabriel crouched.
“Someone put it in your bag.”
“When?”
“The night you found me.”
Sheree remembered struggling with him in the alley.
His hand near her shoulder.
His weight against her tote.
“You did.”
Gabriel’s eyes lifted.
“I must have.”
“Before you passed out.”
He picked up the drive.
Anthony entered.
Gabriel handed it to him.
“Offline computer only.”
Twenty minutes later, they opened the files.
Bank transfers.
Names.
Dates.
Police officers.
Judges.
Politicians.
Moretti employees.
Then Sheree saw one name she recognized.
Nolan Pierce.
Beside it was another.
Her blood turned cold.
Marcus Carter.
Her older brother.
The brother whose death six years earlier had been described as a random robbery.
Sheree stared at the screen.
“No.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“Sheree?”
She pointed at the name.
“That’s my brother.”
Gabriel’s face became unreadable.
Anthony scrolled farther.
A payment appeared beside Marcus’s name.
$250,000.
The transfer had been made two days before he died.
And the sender was unmistakable.
Moretti International Holdings.
May you like
Sheree slowly turned toward Gabriel.
“You killed my brother.”
