Chapter 8 - The Message in Blood
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The smell of powdered sugar and fresh espresso filled the warm air inside Rossi’s Bakery on 18th Street.
Outside, rain drummed against the striped green awning, but inside, an elderly woman in a flour-dusted apron worked behind the glass display.
Her name was Clara Rossi, Leo’s older sister.
She had eyes like dark olives, sharp and wary, watching every customer who walked through the front door.
I waited until two delivery drivers cleared out before approaching the counter.
"Can I help you, dear?" Clara asked, wiping the counter with a damp rag.
I didn't speak.
I slid my hand across the glass case and placed the onyx signet ring on the counter.
The gold clinked softly against the tempered glass.
Clara froze.
Her breath hitched in her throat, her knuckles whitening around the cleaning rag.
She looked up at me, her eyes darting to my face beneath the oversized wool beanie.
"Where did you get this?" she whispered, her voice shaking with suppressed terror.
"The sparrow is flying south," I said quietly, repeating Gabriel's exact words.
Clara’s lips parted in shock.
She snatched the ring from the counter and slipped it into her apron pocket with lightning speed.
"Follow me," she muttered, unhooking the wooden partition beside the cash register.
She led me through the kitchen, past industrial ovens radiating intense heat, into a tiny storage room filled with five-hundred-pound sacks of flour.
She reached behind a stack of metal shelves and pulled out a battered satellite phone.
She dialed a twelve-digit number from memory, pressing the receiver to her ear.
"Leo," Clara spoke into the receiver, her voice trembling.
"Someone is here. She has the Falcone seal."
A long pause followed, filled only with the faint crackle of static.
Clara handed the phone to me.
"Speak," a gravelly, dangerous voice commanded on the other end.
"Leo," I said, pressing the phone to my ear. "It's Matilda. From the estate."
"Matilda the maid?" Leo’s tone went from aggressive to deadly suspicious.
"Carmine says you stole the boss's corpse for the Russians."
"Carmine is a lying snake who tried to cremate Gabriel alive," I snapped back.
"Gabriel is in a safehouse on Emerald Avenue."
"He's alive, Leo. And he needs his hound."
Silence stretched over the line for five agonizing seconds.
"Put him on the line," Leo demanded.
"He doesn't have this phone," I explained. "I'm at Clara's bakery."
"If this is a trap set by Carmine," Leo growled, "I will end you myself, little girl."
"Ask me about Gabriel's morning routine," I challenged him.
"He drinks three shots of espresso with raw honey, takes his eggs with hot peppers, and hates it when anyone touches the silver watch on his nightstand."
A sharp intake of breath sounded over the receiver.
"Nobody knows about the honey except the personal staff," Leo whispered, his voice cracking with sudden, overwhelming emotion.
"Where is he?"
"Near the old Union Stockyards," I answered.
"Bring weapons, clean plates, and medical supplies."
"And Leo?"
"Yeah?"
"Watch your tail. Carmine has eyes on every intersection from here to Cicero."
"Let them look," Leo replied, the deadly coldness returning to his voice.
May you like
"The boss is alive."
"Chicago is about to burn."
