Chapter 6 - The Ghost in the Warehouse
"That's impossible," I whispered, my hand flying up to cover my mouth as I stared down at the photograph on the desk. "That’s Natalie. I helped her get that scar when we were nine years old climbing over a rusted fence in Boston."
Gabriel stared at the photograph, his breathing halting completely. He looked up from the picture to my face, then back down to the image, his mind struggling to process the impossible geometry of what he was seeing.
"Are you certain?" Gabriel asked Franco, his voice dangerously low.
"Positive, Boss," Franco replied, tapping the tablet screen. "Facial recognition matches ninety-nine point eight percent. The email notifying Lauren of her sister's death was sent from an IP address registered to a shell corporation wholly owned by Veles Holdings—the exact real estate trust Natalie was investigating before the crash."
I sank back into the wingback chair, the room spinning around me. "If that’s Natalie in the photograph... then who is inside the casket at St. Augustine Cathedral?"
Gabriel’s eyes darkened into an abyss of cold, calculated fury. He slammed his fist down onto the mahogany desk with a force that rattled the crystal decanter and glasses.
"A decoy," Gabriel growled, the word tearing out of his throat like a predator's snarl. "A body chosen because her dental records and physical measurements closely matched Natalie's, placed in a closed-casket funeral to force me out into the open—and to draw you out of Seattle."
"Why?" I asked, my voice shaking with a mixture of terror and overwhelming rage. "Why would my own sister fake her death, frame it as a murder, and drag me into the middle of a mafia war?"
"Because she was cornered," Gabriel said, straightening up, his posture rigid with lethal resolve. He reached down and picked up his Glock from the desk, sliding it back into his shoulder holster. "Victor Moretti and his faction were closing in on her. She couldn't run away as Natalie anymore—because once Moretti marks you for termination, you don't disappear by catching a flight to Europe. The only way to survive was to stop existing."
"By making everyone believe she was dead," I continued, the pieces clicking together with terrifying clarity. "And by bringing me here... she gave them a new target. Me."
Gabriel walked over to me, grabbed my shoulders, and pulled me gently to my feet until I was forced to look directly into his eyes.
"She used you, Lauren," Gabriel said, his voice hard as diamond, yet filled with a strange, fierce protectiveness. "She knew you'd come to the funeral. She knew your stubborn pride would compel you to show up and pay your respects, even after three years of silence. She traded your safety for her own escape."
A hot tear slipped down my cheek, but I didn't wipe it away. For three years, I had blamed myself for being too cold, too distant, too unforgiving when Natalie walked out of my apartment in Seattle. I had carried the guilt of our final argument like a heavy stone tied around my neck.
And now, I discovered the truth: my sister hadn't just walked away. She had engineered a masterclass in deception, using my unconditional love—and my stubborn refusal to stay away—as a shield to cover her retreat.
"Where is she?" I asked, my voice dropping into a dangerous, icy calm that surprised even myself.
Gabriel looked at Franco. "The IP address on that email. Can we pinpoint the physical location?"
"We tracked the signal to an abandoned cold-storage warehouse off the Calumet River," Franco answered instantly. "Moretti’s men control the surrounding blocks, but the facility itself has a private communications uplink. It’s a staging ground."
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Gabriel reached out, taking his heavy black wool coat from the back of the chair and sliding his arms into the sleeves. He looked down at me, his dark eyes burning with an intense, unwavering focus.
"Get your jacket, Lauren," Gabriel said quietly. "We’re going to go find your sister. And she is going to explain to both of us why she started a war she expected us to finish."
