Love and vengeance

Chapter 2: Cold Hands, Warm Pulse

The convoy tore through the blackness of the mountain highway its tires cutting through the rising floodwaters like surgical blades. Inside the rear cabin of the lead escort SUV the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. The scent of rain ozone and rich leather was overridden by the metallic coppery smell of fresh blood.

Matteo sat rigid in the leather seat, holding the young woman against his chest. Her small frame felt impossibly light almost delicate like a porcelain doll crushed beneath an iron boot. Every sudden turn of the high speed vehicle sent a tremor through her body, causing her to whimper softly in her unconscious state.

Push it faster, Tomas, Matteo commanded, his voice cold, razor sharp, cutting through the low hum of the engine.

I’m doing eighty on a flooded mountain road Don Matteo, the driver replied, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he checked his rearview mirror. If we hit a patch of standing water at this speed, we won't make it to the hacienda alive.

Then we die trying, Matteo snapped, his dark eyes never leaving the girl’s face. Faster.

In the front passenger seat, Esteban turned around, his eyes filled with disbelief and growing paranoia. He held an encrypted satellite radio in his hand, his eyes flitting between his boss and the bleeding civilian wrapped in Matteo’s expensive wool coat.

Boss, Dr. Vargas is setting up the trauma bay at the estate, Esteban said, his tone careful, walking a tightrope between absolute obedience and deep concern. But this is crazy. If the police find out a hit and run victim was taken to the Restrepo compound, it gives the Attorney General the exact search warrant he’s been praying for. Not to mention the rival spotters in the valley. If Cali finds out 'El Hielo' has a soft spot, they'll burn the valley to get to her.

Matteo didn't answer immediately. He reached down, his heavy, scarred fingers pressing gently against the side of her neck, searching for her carotid artery. Her skin was freezing, slick with rain and mud, but beneath his fingers, he felt it a weak, rapid, fluttering pulse.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She stays with us, Matteo said, his baritone leaving no room for argument. No hospitals. No police. No public records.

Who is she, Matteo Esteban pressed, dropping the formal title in a rare moment of desperation. You said back at the ditch that you knew her. Who is this girl

Matteo stared at her pale features. The high cheekbones, the delicate curve of her nose, the small notch in her chin. He remembered the intelligence file his men had gathered seven months ago during the violent purge of the rival Norte del Valle remnants. He remembered the photograph pinned to a wooden board in a secret war room a photo of a smiling young university student holding hands with a young man whose face had eventually been crossed out with red ink.

Her name is Isabel Matteo murmured, his thumb unconsciously wiping a smudge of dark mud from her cheek. Isabel Rojas.

Esteban’s breath hitched. His eyes widened in absolute shock. Rojas? As in Santiago Rojas?

The same Matteo said darkly.

Jesus Christ, Matteo Esteban swore under his breath, turning entirely around in his seat. Santiago was the head logistics lieutenant for the Cárdenas clan. He was the one leaking our drop zones in the Caribbean The man who almost got us killed in the coastal ambush You ordered his execution yourself six months ago His sister shouldn't even be alive she was supposed to be in Bogotá at school.

She wasn't supposed to be on a pitch black mountain road in the middle of a torrential storm either Matteo growled, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, lethal intensity that made Esteban instantly shut his mouth. Yet here she is. Under my wheels. Dying in my arms.

It could be a trap Esteban whispered fiercely. What if Santiago’s people set this up? What if she was planted on that road?

Look at her Esteban Matteo barked, pointing down at her broken, shivering body. Nobody orchestrates a trap by throwing an unarmed woman into the path of a four ton armored Mercedes traveling sixty miles an hour down a mudslide It was an accident. A cruel twisted stroke of fate.

The convoy suddenly veered sharply to the left, passing through heavy electronic steel gates hidden deep within the forested hills of El Poblado. The iron gates swung shut behind them with a heavy deafening clang locking out the storm and the rest of the world.

The vehicles surged up the long, winding cobblestone driveway of Hacienda Las Calas, a sprawling, fortress like estate surrounded by twenty foot security walls, high definition thermal cameras, and armed guards patrolling with automatic weapons.

The moment the SUV screeched to a halt beneath the covered portico of the main house, the doors were thrown open.

Dr. Vargas, a tall, gray haired man who had served as the Restrepo family’s private physician for two decades, was waiting with two armed tactical paramedics and a stainless steel gurney.

Get her inside Now Dr. Vargas ordered shouting over the sound of the pouring rain that continued to hammer the terracotta roof.

Matteo didn't wait for the paramedics. He scooped Isabel into his arms stepping out of the vehicle and striding directly into the grand foyer of the mansion. White marble floors reflected the warm light of crystal chandeliers instantly stained by the trails of mud and blood dripping from their clothes.

Take her to the East Wing medical bay Matteo commanded his voice echoing through the massive hall.

They rushed through the wide hallways into a fully equipped, state of the art trauma room hidden behind a concealed door in the wing. It was a room designed to treat gunshot wounds and shrapnel injuries from cartel warfare stocked with surgical tools blood bags and advanced monitoring equipment.

Matteo laid Isabel down on the cold surgical table. As he pulled back his coat, Dr. Vargas moved in quickly, cutting away the torn, muddy yellow dress with surgical scissors to assess the damage.

Severe blunt force trauma to the chest, Dr. Vargas said rapidly placing a stethoscope on her pale skin while a paramedic attached a heart monitor. Possible fractured ribs, deep contusions, low body temperature, and heavy blood loss from a laceration on her scalp. Her vitals are dropping.

The heart monitor began to beep frantically its rhythmic tone spiking into a erratic alarming sequence.

Beep Beep Beep beep beep...

She’s slipping into neurogenic shock Vargas called out, pulling a syringe from a tray. I need two units of O-negative blood, now Clear the room, Matteo You're in my light.

Matteo didn't move. He stood at the head of the table, his tall, imposing frame casting a long shadow over the medical team. His hands, usually so steady when holding a gun were subtly trembling. He reached out and grabbed Isabel’s cold limp hand in his own.

Save her Vargas Matteo said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, terrifying whisper. If she dies on this table I will personally burn your medical license and bury you in the valley.

Matteo, get out Vargas yelled back, showing no fear only because he had known Matteo since he was a boy. Let me do my job.

Matteo hesitated for a fraction of a second. He looked down at Isabel’s face. Her lips were pale, tinted blue from the cold storm. Her dark lashes rested against her cheeks.

Suddenly, her body convulsed violently on the table. Her eyes snapped open not fully, but enough for the harsh fluorescent lights of the operating room to catch the striking, emerald green color of her irises.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze locking onto Matteo’s dark hollow eyes. She couldn't see clearly through the haze of shock, pain, and blood, but she felt the crushing, warm grip of the hand holding hers.

With a final desperate surge of consciousness Isabel’s fingers tightened around Matteo’s wrist her nails digging into his skin.

Santiago she gasped out, a tiny trail of blood running from the corner of her mouth. where is Santiago?

The sound of her brother's name hanging in the sterile air sent a violent chill down Matteo’s spine.

Before he could answer her grip went limp. Her eyelids fluttered shut her head fell to the side and the heart monitor flatlined into a continuous, piercing tone.

She’s in cardiac arrest Vargas yelled, grabbing the defibrillator paddles. Charge to two hundred Clear

Esteban grabbed Matteo by the shoulder, physically pulling his boss away from the table as the medical team rushed in around her. Matteo allowed himself to be dragged back toward the heavy double doors his eyes fixed on the pale girl dying on the steel table.

His hands were covered in her blood. The blood of the sister of the man he had murdered.

As the heavy wooden doors swung shut, sealing him out in the cold silent hallway the piercing sound of the flatlining monitor continued to echo inside his head promising a war that no bullet could ever win.