Marco Betrayal The Guardian of Queens

The chapel erupted into utter chaos the second the command left my mouth.

"Are you insane?!" the funeral director stammered, clutching a velvet-covered prayer book to his chest as his knees shook. "The child has been embalmed! She has been certified dead by the city coroner! You cannot disturb a body during a funeral service!"

"Open the damn lid before I put a bullet through your head and open it myself!" Tony roared, drawing his matte-black Glock from his shoulder holster and pointing it directly at the director’s forehead.

"No! Please!" Rosa Vasquez screamed, falling to her knees on the aisle carpet, her hands clasped together in desperate prayer. "Don't do this to my baby! Don't disrespect her!"

"Rosa, look at the dog!" Tomas shouted, his voice cracking with a sudden, electrifying realization. "Look at Bruno!"

Bruno was no longer just whining. He was rearing up on his hind legs, slamming his massive front paws against the side of the heavy casket, desperate to break through the wood. He was barking in sharp, furious bursts, his tail thrashing with an insane mix of urgency and distress.

I didn't wait for the keys or the director.

I grabbed the silver handles on the front of the pristine white casket and pulled with all my strength. The decorative latch clicked and snapped open. With a heavy, muffled swoosh of sealed air, the top lid swung upward on its brass hinges.

The strong, sweet scent of formaldehyde and pale white lilies rushed into the air.

Elena lay motionless inside. Her skin was unnaturally pale, almost translucent under the warm chapel lights. Her dark hair was neatly curled, resting on a white silk pillow beside her favorite plush bunny.

"See?" the funeral director sobbed, backing away into the altar railings. "She's dead! She's been dead for three days! You're making a horrific mistake!"

"Shut up!" I snapped, leaning deep into the casket.

I placed my ear directly above her tiny, pale chest.

For three unbearable seconds, the entire room stopped breathing. The only sound in the funeral home was the hum of the overhead lights and the distant sound of Queens traffic outside.

*Thump.*

It was faint. Lighter than the tap of a bird's wing against a windowpane.

*Thump... thump.*

"She has a pulse," I whispered, the words choking in my throat.

"What?!" Tomas shrieked, sprinting forward and dropping to his knees beside me.

"She has a pulse!" I yelled, reaching down into the velvet lining.

I slipped my hands under her tiny back and lifted her light, fragile frame out of the casket. Her skin felt terrifyingly cold to the touch, like marble pulled from a winter lake, but as I pressed her tiny wrist against my thumb, I felt it clearly—a shallow, fluttering beat.

"She's breathing!" Tomas sobbed, grabbing her small, limp hand and covering it with kisses. "My God, my baby is alive! She's alive!"

"How is this possible?!" Tony gasped, his face twisted in disbelief. "The hospital... the coroner... they declared her dead three days ago!"

I turned my terrifying gaze toward Marco, who was backed against the marble column, his eyes bulging with absolute horror. He looked at the live child in my arms as if he were looking at a ghost returned from the depths of hell to condemn him.

"You," I snarled, holding Elena close against my chest to keep her body warm. "What did you give her, Marco?"

Marco swallowed hard, his skin turning a sickly shade of gray. "I... I don't know what you're talking about, Boss!"

Bruno lunged, his jaw snapping shut just inches from Marco's crotch. Marco shrieked and pressed himself flatter against the stone wall.

"Don't lie to me again!" I barked, taking a step toward him while cradle-holding the child. "A hit-and-run victim doesn't survive three days in a sealed box without oxygen unless her body was placed into a state of artificial coma! What drug did Harlan's people use on her?!"

Marco trembled so violently his knees gave out, and he slid down the wall onto the floor. "Tetrodotoxin..." he whimpered. "It was a synthetic paralytic... Harlan’s chemist made it. It lowers the heart rate to near zero and slows brain activity so much that medical monitors can't detect a rhythm. It makes a person look, feel, and test completely dead!"

"Why?!" Tomas screamed, tears pouring down his face as he hovered near his daughter. "Why would you do that to a seven-year-old girl?!"

"Because Harlan didn't want a murder charge on his hands if the body was found!" Marco cried out, clutching his hands together in pathetic plea. "He wanted her buried quietly! He paid off the night technician at the morgue to sign the death certificate without doing a full autopsy! The plan was to let her suffocate underground so no one would ever investigate!"

A wave of pure, unfiltered fury swept through the chapel. My men stared at Marco with disgust so profound it transcended mob politics. Even in our violent world, burying a living child was an atrocity that demanded ultimate retribution.

"Tony," I commanded, my voice turning into a cold steel blade. "Get my personal physician, Dr. Vance, on the phone right now. Tell him to prep the emergency trauma suite at the private clinic. We need a full reversal cocktail and oxygen immediately."

"On it, Boss!" Tony yelled, pulling his phone out and sprinting toward the exit doors.

"And Tony!" I added.

Tony stopped at the threshold and looked back.

"Tie Marco to a chair in the basement of the warehouse," I ordered coldly. "Break both of his knees so he can't crawl away. He stays alive until I decide how he dies."

Two of my biggest enforcers, Paulie and Sal, grabbed Marco by his collar and arms. Marco screamed and kicked, crying out for mercy, but they dragged him out the side exit like a bag of trash.

I looked down at the tiny girl in my arms. Her chest rose and fell with a microscopic, fragile breath. Bruno trotted alongside me, his nose resting gently against her hanging foot, keeping his eyes fixed on her.

"Tomas, Rosa, get in my car," I said to the weeping parents. "We are going to save your daughter."

We rushed out of the funeral home into the cold afternoon air, piling into the back of my armored Escalade. I wrapped Elena in my heavy wool coat while her mother held her cold hands and wept tears of impossible hope.

As the Escalade roared away from the curb, siren blaring, I looked out the tinted rear window.

A black sedan with heavily tinted windows was parked across the street under the shadow of an elevated subway line. The moment my driver pulled into traffic, the sedan’s headlights flicked on, and it pulled out to follow us.

Harlan’s men knew something had gone wrong at the funeral.