PART2 The Hidden Operation Beneath Gabriel Moretti’s Scar008

Dr. Reed read it once, then looked at me.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“I don’t know,” Luca said.

His voice was controlled, but his hand had tightened around the phone.

I looked through the treatment-room window. Gabriel lay beneath the harsh white lights, surrounded by nurses and monitors. His face was turned toward the wall, his eyes closed.

“Can he hear us?” I asked.

“Possibly,” Dr. Reed said. “But he’s being prepared for imaging. We need to move him.”

The nurse took the evidence pouch from my hand.

“Where did you find this?” Dr. Reed asked.

“On his shirt.”

“Then it may not have anything to do with the surgical wound.”

“What about the scan?”

“We’ll know more soon.”

She turned to the team and began issuing instructions. I stepped aside with Luca, though neither of us moved far from the doors.

“What exactly was Room M-17?” I asked.

Luca stared at his phone.

“An extraction protocol.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“It was a procedure used by private security firms.”

“For removing implants?”

“For removing tracking devices, identification tags, and other items placed beneath the skin.”

“Without the patient knowing?”

He hesitated.

“That depended on who authorized it.”

I felt a coldness settle behind my ribs.

“Who authorized Gabriel’s?”

“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”

“You worked for him when this happened.”

“I work for him now.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Luca met my eyes.

He looked tired. Not physically tired. Tired in the way people looked when they had spent too long defending a decision they no longer believed was right.

“I was outside the clinic because Gabriel told me to leave,” he said. “I’ve already told you that.”

“You also said he may have been sedated for four days.”

“I said Vale’s staff gave him medication. I don’t know whether he was sedated the entire time.”

“Then find out.”

His jaw tightened.

“You think I haven’t been asking myself the same questions?”

“I think you’ve been asking them privately, which is not useful to Gabriel.”

“I’m trying to protect him.”

“Protection that depends on keeping everyone uninformed is how people end up in situations like this.”

His gaze dropped.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

The elevator doors opened at the end of the corridor. A man in a dark overcoat stepped out, accompanied by two hospital security officers. He was in his late thirties, with carefully combed brown hair and a pleasant face that would have seemed ordinary if not for the way Luca immediately moved between him and the treatment room.

The man stopped.

“Luca.”

“Vincent.”

The name carried no anger.

Only exhaustion.

Vincent glanced beyond him and saw me.

“And you must be the new nurse.”

“She is not part of this conversation,” Luca said.

“That’s interesting,” Vincent replied. “She seems to be the only person who knows what’s happening.”

“I know enough to keep Gabriel alive.”

Vincent’s attention shifted to the glass doors.

“How is he?”

“Being assessed.”

“By whom?”

“Hospital staff,” I said.

His eyes returned to me. They were pale gray, observant, and unexpectedly gentle.

“Thank you for bringing him here.”

“Did you expect him to get worse?”

“No.”

“Did you expect the wound to become infected?”

His expression changed.

Not outrage.

Recognition.

“You saw the incision.”

“I saw the procedure you performed.”

“I didn’t perform it.”

“Then tell me who did.”

Vincent looked toward Luca.

“Is this how you greet everyone?”

“This is how I greet people who allow an unstable patient to deteriorate in a penthouse.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line.

“I was trying to prevent something worse.”

“By hiding a surgical wound?”

“By removing an object that should never have been inside him.”

Luca’s attention sharpened.

“You sent the message.”

Vincent looked at the phone in his hand.

“I sent one message.”

“The photograph came from you?”

“No.”

“Who sent it?”

Vincent shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Luca asked.

“I expect you to understand that someone is trying to make you believe I’m responsible.”

“That isn’t difficult,” Luca said. “You performed an unauthorized procedure on Gabriel.”

“I arranged for a doctor to remove a tracking capsule.”

“Without telling him.”

“He was unconscious.”

“He was frightened and confused.”

“He was being monitored.”

“By whom?”

Vincent’s face tightened.

“That is what I was trying to find out.”

Dr. Reed opened the treatment-room door.

“Mr. Moretti is going for imaging. One person may accompany him.”

“Luca,” Vincent said.

“No,” Gabriel’s voice came from inside.

All three of us turned.

He was awake, though his eyes looked unfocused beneath the oxygen mask.

The nurses paused.

Gabriel’s gaze found Vincent first.

For a few seconds, neither cousin spoke.

Then Gabriel looked at me.

“Stay.”

“I’m not family.”

“I know.”

His voice was weak, but the request was clear.

I moved beside the stretcher as the staff began wheeling him toward the radiology department. Luca followed on one side. Vincent remained in the corridor.

The elevator ride was quiet.

Gabriel kept his eyes closed. His hand rested against the blanket, fingers slightly curled.

“You should not have come,” he said.

“To the hospital?”

“Vincent.”

“He came to you.”

“He always comes when he wants something.”

“Or when he’s worried.”

Gabriel opened his eyes.

“You trust him?”

“I don’t know him.”

“You defended him.”

“I questioned both of you.”

That earned the faintest change in his expression.

“It’s a useful habit.”

“Your family seems to need it.”

His gaze drifted toward the elevator ceiling.

“My family has never had much use for questions.”

“What did they prefer?”

“Assumptions.”

The doors opened.

Radiology staff guided him into the scanning room. I stayed beside his head while the technician explained the procedure. Gabriel listened with apparent patience until they mentioned contrast.

“No,” he said.

The technician glanced at me.

“He’s hypotensive,” I explained. “Ask the radiologist whether contrast is essential.”

A doctor came in, reviewed the notes, and agreed to begin without it.

The scan took several minutes.

Gabriel lay still, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The machine hummed around him. I watched the monitor outside the room while the images appeared in slices.

The radiologist frowned.

“There’s something here,” she said.

“Where?” I asked.

“Subcutaneous, left of the lumbar spine. Not in the spinal canal.”

“Could it be a retained fragment?”

“It’s too uniform. The edges are smooth.”

Gabriel turned his head slightly.

“What is it?”

“We’re not sure yet,” the radiologist said. “We need a closer series.”

His hand moved across the sheet until it found mine.

The gesture seemed unconscious.

I let him hold on.

When the second scan finished, the radiologist printed several images.

“It’s a small capsule,” she said. “About two centimeters. It appears to be lodged in the deep tissue near the surgical tract.”

“Can it cause paralysis?” I asked.

“Not directly. But the surgery may have irritated surrounding nerves. The infection is the more immediate concern.”

Gabriel’s eyes closed.

“Remove it,” he said.

“That will require surgery,” Dr. Reed replied from the doorway. “We’re already planning to clean the infected area. We can remove the capsule at the same time.”

“No,” Gabriel said.

I leaned closer.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what it is.”

“That is precisely why it needs to be removed in a controlled environment.”

He looked at me.

“What if it’s transmitting?”

“A passive device doesn’t transmit on its own unless activated by an external signal.”

“How do you know it’s passive?”

“I don’t. That’s why the hospital will examine it.”

He studied my face.

“You sound very calm.”

“I’m not calm. I’m focused.”

“Is that different?”

“Very.”

A brief, tired smile touched his mouth.

The radiologist gave the images to Dr. Reed, who left to coordinate surgery. Gabriel’s eyes remained on me.

“Did Vincent tell you what was inside me?”

“He said it was a tracking device.”

“Did he tell you where it came from?”

“No.”

Gabriel turned his head back toward the ceiling.

“Then he’s still protecting himself.”

“From what?”

“From being the person who failed me.”

I said nothing.

He breathed slowly through the oxygen mask.

“Vincent and I were raised together,” he said. “People assumed we were brothers. We never corrected them.”

“What happened between you?”

“Nothing simple.”

“That’s usually the truth.”

He looked at me again.

“When my father died, I took over the business. Vincent handled the finances, the contracts, the people who preferred talking to fighting. We balanced each other.”

“Until he wanted your position?”

“Everyone assumes that.”

“Is it untrue?”

“I don’t know.”

The answer was almost a whisper.

I sat back.

“That’s not what you expected to say.”

“No.”

“Why did you say it?”

“Because I’m tired of pretending certainty is the same as strength.”

The words settled between us.

For the first time since I had met him, Gabriel looked less like a man who controlled everything and more like someone finally admitting that he had been afraid.

“I trusted Vincent,” he continued. “When the shooting happened, he told me the people around me had been compromised. He said one of them had arranged for a device to be placed in my body.”

“Did you believe him?”

“I wanted to.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“No.”

He looked down at our joined hands.

“After the clinic, I woke in a room I didn’t recognize. Vincent was there. Dr. Vale was there. I had a terrible pain in my back, and my legs wouldn’t move.”

“Do you remember the surgery?”

“Fragments.”

“Tell me.”

He swallowed.

“Vale kept saying, ‘M-17.’ Vincent told him to stop. They argued.”

“About what?”

“About whether they had enough time.”

“Enough time for what?”

Gabriel closed his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“Did they remove the capsule?”

“Vincent said they had.”