THE MAN WHO CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD

We arrived at Pier 44 twenty minutes later.

The massive corrugated metal warehouse loomed against the dark water of Lake Michigan. There were no guards outside. The massive rolling door was cracked open just enough for us to slip through.

Inside, the warehouse was a high-tech nightmare.

The rusted exterior hid a pristine, sterile laboratory. Rows of computers hummed softly. In the center of the room sat a massive, reinforced glass oxygen chamber.

Gabriel was strapped to a medical chair inside it. He was awake now, pounding his fists against the glass, his face pale with rage.

Standing at the control panel was Thomas.

He looked worse than before. He was leaning heavily on a cane, his breath rattling in his chest.

“You brought him,” Thomas said, his eyes locking onto little Leo.

Adrian stepped in front of the boy. “You’re not touching my son, Thomas.”

Thomas laughed bitterly. “Your son? Look at him, Adrian. Look at his eyes. He has our father’s eyes. Not yours.”

Elena stepped forward, her hands clenched into fists. “Let my father go.”

“He is not your father,” Thomas sneered. “I am.”

“You’re a monster who murdered my mother,” Elena spat.

“I saved you from weakness!” Thomas roared, slamming his fist onto the control panel. The sudden movement made him cough violently, a spasm that brought blood to his lips.

As he leaned over the console, I noticed something resting beside the keyboard.

A gold hospital identification bracelet.

It was identical to the ones given to infants in the maternity ward.

I slowly walked closer, my eyes fixed on the bracelet.

“Stop right there, nurse,” Thomas warned, drawing his gun.

“You’re dying,” I said calmly, keeping my voice steady. “Your skin is jaundiced. Your breathing is shallow. The genetic manipulation your father put you through destroyed your cellular regeneration.”

“Which is why I need Gabriel,” Thomas wheezed. “His DNA was left pure. His memory wipe was a success, but his body is intact. The machine will transfer his healthy bone marrow into me, overriding my failing system.”

“That’s a myth,” I said. “You can’t cure cellular decay with a marrow transplant inside a hyperbaric chamber. Dr. Hale lied to you.”

Thomas froze. “What?”

“Hale kept you alive to use you,” I said, pointing at the gold bracelet on the console. “Just like your father used you. Hale didn’t want you to cure yourself. He wanted you to kill Gabriel so Hale could take over the family’s pharmaceutical fronts.”

Thomas looked at the bracelet.

Then back at me.

“You’re lying.”

“Look at the bracelet, Thomas!” I yelled.

Thomas picked up the tiny gold band. His hands were shaking.

I already knew what was printed on it. I had seen the matching paperwork in Hale’s files.

Thomas read the tiny engraved letters out loud.

Baby Hale.

Thomas looked up, the color draining from his scarred face.

“Leo isn’t Adrian’s son,” I said softly. “And he isn’t yours either, Thomas. Your treatments made you sterile. You knew that. So Hale bought a child from the black market and convinced you the genetic treatments worked, just to keep you motivated to hunt Gabriel.”

Adrian gasped.

Leo clung tightly to Adrian’s leg, hiding his face.

Thomas stared at the boy. The child he had raised. The legacy he thought he was protecting.

It was all a lie.

Suddenly, the warehouse doors blew open with a deafening crash.

Dozens of armed men flooded the room.

But they weren’t Thomas’s men.

And they weren’t Gabriel’s.

Walking through the center of the heavily armed mercenaries was an old man in a tailored suit.

He had a silver cane, perfectly combed white hair, and cold, dead eyes.

Anthony Russo.