79. Lazarus
The back door of the Mercedes hangs open, its armoured frame buckled from the blast. The seats where Leandra and Ezra were sitting are empty.
I see Leandra’s gun on the floor, unfired.
I see the scuff marks on the leather where she struggled.
I see the blood, a few drops, fresh and red, on the edge of the doorframe.
But I don’t see them. I don’t see Leandra. I don’t see my son.
The car is silent, save for the distant wail of sirens.
My chest tightens as I scan the interior, my eyes landing on the back seat.
Nestled there, gleaming in the dim light of the alley, is a bullet.
It’s not standard ammunition, it’s larger, heavier, its surface polished gold.
Beside it lies a folded piece of paper, crisp and white, stark against the dark leather.
I reach for the bullet first, my fingers closing around its cold, smooth surface. Turning it over, I see the word engraved into the metal with meticulous precision.
B’RESHIT.
My jaw clenches. I know what it means, I know what Ezekiel is telling me.
I unfold the note. The handwriting is precise, almost elegant, but the words are a blade to my chest.
“You have always been a man of legacy, Lazarus. Now I have both your heir and your wife, your means to produce another. But Leandra... she is more than that, isn’t she? More than a vessel. More than a weapon. She is your heart, and I have her.”
The paper crumples in my fist. My breath comes hard and fast, but I force myself to stay calm, to think. Ezekiel has taken them both. He’s taken my family. He’s taken everything that matters to me, everything that defines me.
And he’s mocking me with it.
“Sir.” One of my men appears at my side, his face bloody, his eyes wild. “Sir, we need to get you out of here.”
I don’t move. My mind is racing, piecing together the implications. Ezekiel didn’t just take Leandra and Ezra to hurt me. He took them to control me. To break me. To force me into a corner where I have no choice but to play his game.
But he’s underestimated me. He’s underestimated what I’m willing to do to get them back.
The golden bullet. The note. They’re not threats, they’re an invitation.
Ezekiel wants me to follow, he wants me to come to him.
This wasn’t an assassination attempt. This was a retrieval.
He took Leandra and Ezra because they are valuable to him, because they are the keys to something I don’t yet fully understand.
B’RESHIT.
I know where he’s taken them.
There’s only one place that makes sense. Only one location with enough significance, enough history, enough symbolic weight to serve as the stage for whatever Ezekiel has planned.
The place where it all started. The place where the old order was destroyed, and the Brethren were made anew. The place where I first learned what it meant to be betrayed by the people I loved.
The old Templar fortress in the mountains. The birthplace of the Brethren.
It’s been abandoned for centuries. A ruin. A monument to old hatreds and older sins but it’s still sacred ground to our order, still a place of power.
He thinks this is his moment. His victory. His prophesied triumph over the Brethren.
He’s wrong.
I slide the bullet into my pocket and begin walking. The sirens are closer now, but I don’t look back. I don’t look back at the burning wreckage of the convoy, at the bodies of my men.
Leandra is out there. Ezra is out there. They are alone, afraid, and waiting for me.
I will not let them wait long.
I find a car at the end of the alley, a battered Fiat with the keys still in the ignition. The owner is nowhere to be seen, they probably fled when the shooting started. Smart man.
I slide behind the wheel and start the engine.
The GPS on my phone is dead, jammed like everything else, but I don’t need it. I know the way. The fortress is two hours north of Rome, high in the Apennines, accessible only by a single winding road that has probably not been maintained in decades.
I press the accelerator and the Fiat lurches forward, tyres squealing on the cobblestones. Behind me, the first police cars arrive at the scene, their blue lights painting the alley in strobes of electric colour.
I don’t stop,
I don’t slow down.
I drive through the chaos and into the night, heading north, heading toward the mountains, heading toward whatever awaits me.
The road opens before me, dark and empty, leading up into the mountains.
I press the accelerator harder, pushing the Fiat to its limits, watching the speedometer climb.
I don’t know what I’ll find when I reach the fortress.
I don’t know how many men Ezekiel has, or what traps he’s laid, or what he plans to do with Leandra and Ezra.
I only know that I am going to kill him, I am going to tear him apart with my bare hands if I have to.
No more games, no more politics. No more careful manoeuvring and patient strategy. The time for that has passed.
Ezekiel touched my family.
Now he dies.
The golden bullet was an invitation. I am going to shove it down his throat.