Chapter 7 - The Unseen EnemyWhile Isabella found peace in the sterile quiet of her new clinic, the outside world was beginning to boil.
Three miles away, in a dimly lit VIP lounge downtown, a man named Hector Gomez slammed his fist onto a glass table, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Gomez was a high-ranking lieutenant for the Sinaloa cartel, and his patience had run out.
"Find her," Gomez snarled at his trembling enforcer. "Eight months ago, that veterinary student watched us clean up Ramirez. She vanished into thin air. But my informants tell me someone matching her description was spotted near Il Giardino Segreto last week."
"Boss, that's Moretti's territory," the enforcer stammered. "The Iron Ghost doesn't let anyone operate on his turf."
"I don't give a damn about Moretti!" Gomez roared, drawing a silver-plated pistol and pressing it against the enforcer's forehead. "Find out what she knows, or I'll feed you to the pigs. She's the only one who can link us to the clinic massacre. Bring her to me—dead or alive."
Back at the Villa Moretti, the atmosphere was growing tense.
That evening, Moretti sat in his private study, studying satellite feeds and intelligence briefings spread across his desk. His top caporegime, Marco, stood by the window with a grim expression.
"Gomez is sniffing around our perimeter, Boss," Marco reported. "He’s paying off low-level street thugs in the district to ask questions about a girl with veterinary training."
Moretti’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking violently in his cheek. He picked up his crystal tumbler of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip.
"He thinks he can hunt on my land," Moretti said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. "He thinks because we’ve been quiet lately, the Iron Ghost has grown soft."
"What do you want us to do, Lorenzo? Strike first?"
May you like
"No," Moretti replied, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "Let him come. Let him think he found a weakness. Let's see how brave Hector Gomez is when he walks straight into the lion's den."
Moretti turned his gaze toward the window, looking out toward the East Wing where the light from Isabella’s room still burned bright. Protect her, a voice in his head echoed. At any cost.
