Page 42 of Infamous
“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 hewas 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 wantmefor 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.
“Sheusedto.” 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.”
26
NADIA
They say humans are wired for touch.
That the skin is the first language we ever learn. That even when the mind breaks, the body still remembers the sound of warmth - a hand on your cheek, a palm pressed to your back.
Maybe that’s why grief feels like starvation. Because when Lucian died, it wasn’t just him I lost. It was the gravity of him. The way his hand could find mine in a crowd and everything inside me would go quiet.
After the DNA test came back with a positive identification, I stopped sleeping. The words were clinical, detached, too neat for what they stole from me. I didn’t cry right away. I just… unraveled in silence. One thread at a time.
