Chapter 25 Lucian
LUCIAN
Scar Gatti sits at the head of the table, cold as carved ice.
Brando paces, restless energy snapping off him in sparks.
Kanyan De Scarzi looms silent in the corner, immovable.
And Mason Ironside stands apart, arms folded, eyes on me.
He’s the reason I’m here - the one who promised I could be trusted, that I could be useful.
I’m not sure which part of that lie they believed, but I’m here nonetheless. And I have a job to do.
The Gattis rebuilt me. New face. New voice. New name. A ghost reborn, repurposed. And now, I owe them.
Scar breaks the silence.
“You want a purpose, Cross?”
Mason cuts in before I can answer. “We’re dropping the name Cross. And Ghost. He’s not that man anymore.”
I huff out a low laugh. “At least until you’re done with me.”
Scar’s mouth twists into a smirk that never reaches his eyes. He glances at Mason. “Please tell me you gave him a beautiful unisex name. Something elegant like Ainsley, maybe?”
Mason rolls his eyes, pushing off the wall as he fishes a wallet from his pocket. “You can’t wander around the city without ID.”
He hands it over. I flip it open, pulling out a driver’s license. My new face stares back at me. Familiar in the bones, foreign in the details. There’s a neat stack of credit cards tucked behind it.
“Jude Mercer?” I lift a brow. “That’s what you came up with? Really?”
“It’s normal,” Mason says evenly. “We need you to blend in.”
“Oh, you need me to blend in?” I snort. “With a name like Jude? You should’ve just thrown a ‘y’ on the end, made it Judey. Sounds friendlier.”
“I considered it,” he smirks.
I’m about to reply when Brando slams a folder onto the table, loud enough to snap the air in half. “If you two are finished with your little comedy act,” he says, eyes cutting between me and Mason, “some of us have real work to do.”
I pick up one of the photos scattered across the polished wood, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. I don’t have to wait long because Brando’s already talking, his voice hard and clipped.
“Ezio Polli. He went in for a routine surgery,” Brando says, voice clipped. “He came out empty.”
I study the images. There are about a dozen of them, all from different angles. The man’s body has been defiled with clean cuts and rushed sutures. Now, there are only hollow cavities where there should be more.
“What are you saying?” I whisper, but even to my own eyes, the answer is clear.
“His organs were stolen.”
Organ theft. But this is some seriously professional work, not the kind of street butcher block mechanics offered by street gangs who deal in stolen body parts.
“Spare parts,” Scar mutters. “Someone inside the hospital he was at has been running a trade. Harvesting the forgotten ones. Addicts. Prostitutes. Now one of ours.”
Kanyan’s voice rumbles low, steady. “The human organ trade is a lucrative, multi billion dollar industry, currently surpassing even the drug trade in revenue. But it’s hard to track down those who trade, and even harder to find those who run them.”
Scar leans back, dark eyes fixed on me, voice low and deliberate.
“That’s where you come in. We don’t need noise. We need erasure. This organization dies quietly.”
I know what he’s asking - and exactly why they want me for it. I’m the best person for the kind of ghost work that leaves no trace.
“Which hospital?” I ask, though the question is already a curse forming in my throat.
The four men exchange a look that says everything they won’t. And just like that, I know. My chair screeches back across the floor, the sound sharp enough to cut the air before it topples over.
“Hell, no.” My voice cracks through the room. “You’re not dragging her into this. Not after - ”
“She’s a variable,” Scar admits. “She might point to doors nobody else knows. She might have seen invoices, dates, names. We don’t want to rattle her. We want to ask the right questions.” He leans forward, voice slow as permission. “You go. You talk. You bring us what she doesn’t know she knows.”
“His organs were stolen,” I spit, every word a live wire. “You think I’m letting her anywhere near those monsters?”
“She doesn’t need to be involved,” Mason says evenly, palms open in truce. “But she might have information. Someone in that hospital removed Ezio’s organs.”
I laugh once - short, humorless. “And what? I just walk up to her and ask her what she knows?”
“She trusts you,” Mason says.
“She used to.” My hands clench against the table, jaw tight. “She doesn’t even know who I am anymore.”
Silence follows, heavy as a verdict. Brando finally exhales, the faintest crack of impatience ghosting his tone.
“Then remind her.”
Scar’s gaze slices through me. “I want to know who did this to Ezio. That’s the priority.”
And just like that, everything connects. The Gattis want the network dismantled. I want my freedom. Both paths lead to the same place. Nadia. They knew. They’ve always known. She’s the one thread I never cut. The one thing tying me to the hospital - and to the monsters lurking there.
Scar steeples his hands. “You are the best man for this job. Cut the head off this venomous snake quietly, and you’ll have a place here for as long as you want it. And I promise - no prison will ever see your face again.”