Cardinal Fonseca, finally freed from the chunk of food stuck in his throat, took a deep breath. His eyes were still teary, but his mind was clear. He turned to Ellie and gazed at her for a few seconds—his look filled with gratitude and admiration. Then, in a hushed voice, he spoke:
"Thank you… my dear girl."
Ellie gave a slight nod. Without averting her gaze but with quiet humility, she rose and returned to her seat at the table. She picked up her fork and resumed eating as if nothing had happened—trying to steer the moment back to normal.
But Fonseca couldn't take his eyes off her. His expression held not only gratitude, but curiosity. After a pause, he gently asked:
"What you just did… where did you learn that, young lady? Such a precise and timely intervention could only be done by someone trained."
Ellie swallowed her bite and sipped some water before giving a modest smile.
"I'm a doctor," she said. "Well… I was a doctor."
Fonseca raised his eyebrows in surprise. He glanced over Ellie again, from head to toe, then muttered as if echoing his own thoughts: "A female doctor…"
After a brief silence, he asked:
"When you say 'was'… what do you mean? You no longer practice?"
Ellie was about to respond, but Murat interjected. His voice was calm, yet the rage beneath was unmistakable:
"She was… until recently. Until a priest from your Catholic Church tried to burn her alive."
Murat's words struck the table like a cold gust. Fonseca's eyes widened. He turned to Ellie in disbelief:
"Is this true, my child?"
Ellie hesitated. Her eyes dropped to the floor. Then, lifting her head slowly, she nodded—sorrowful and a little ashamed.
"Yes, Your Eminence. Just because I conducted experiments on animals to find cures for diseases… they branded me a 'witch.' And… they tried to burn me."
Fonseca's face tightened. The lines on his forehead deepened, and his lips pursed. As if the sins of the past were resurfacing once more. He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes.
"For that dreadful event… I offer you my deepest apologies, on behalf of the Church. I promise to look into this personally."
Ellie said nothing, but her eyes welled with tears.
Fonseca continued. This time his voice was more somber, yet resolute:
"I have always mourned for the many innocent souls falsely accused of witchcraft and executed by baseless accusations. But… I must admit, I do not yet have the power to change this system. Still… if I ever have the chance to become Pope, I swear I will end this wretched tradition. And Ellie… when that day comes, you will be free to research, to heal, and to serve humanity however you wish. No one will silence you."
Ellie was visibly moved. Though she held back tears, her voice trembled:
"Thank you," she said, trying to swallow the knot in her throat.
Those at the table shared faint smiles after witnessing this powerful moment. Viki's eyes softened, Cafer's gaze held admiration, and Kasım's face bore quiet respect.
Murat turned to Fonseca with a warm smile.
"You're quite a reasonable man, Your Eminence. I must say, I appreciate your attitude."
Fonseca responded with a dignified nod. His face showed both fatigue and pride.
Dinner resumed in a calmer atmosphere. There were few words now, but each glance held meaning. After a while, the main dishes ended and desserts arrived. Gareth served date tarts and pomegranate sherbets. Everyone relaxed a little more with each bite, as drowsiness crept in.
Eventually, the gathering dispersed. Exhaustion reminded everyone of the many weeks of running and fighting. Footsteps echoed through the halls as each person retreated to their rooms.
But that night, in a modest mansion nestled on the slope of one of Rome's seven hills… for the first time, a sliver of peace, safety, and hope was felt. As the first light of dawn draped Rome in a silvery gold hue, the mansion's silence was broken by Murat's footsteps. The fatigue built up from the journey had finally been erased by uninterrupted, peaceful sleep. His eyes were clear, his mind sharp. After dressing, he descended the stairs with steady steps.
He headed for the sitting room—and there sat Cardinal Fonseca, already awake and buried in his papers. His face, partially lost among the documents, looked older in the morning light. But the familiar spark of focus still gleamed in his eyes.
"Good morning, Cardinal Fonseca," Murat greeted, his voice firm yet gentle.
Fonseca looked up and smiled.
"Good morning to you too, Sultan Murat. You're up early. No one else is awake yet."
Murat glanced at the window before replying:
"I woke for the morning prayer. I couldn't go back to sleep afterward."
After a brief silence, he got to the point:
"So… were you able to look into it? The Red Lip brothel and Paulo—any leads?"
Without lifting his head, Fonseca replied:
"In fact, I was just reading documents about that very place."
Murat leaned in, unable to hide his anticipation. "And? What did you find?"
Fonseca pushed one document aside with his fingertips and turned his eyes to Murat:
"Paulo is alive. He's still staying on the upper floor of a brothel called Labia Rubra—Red Lip."
Murat exhaled sharply through his nose, narrowing his eyes. "Good… If we catch him, we can get all the information we need."
Fonseca nodded. "Yes. But we must proceed carefully."
Murat paused for a moment, then made his decision:
"I'll send Cafer and Balibey. They're best suited for this task."
Fonseca dipped his head slightly, offering a suggestion:
"Let Gareth accompany them. He can guide the way and help them blend in without drawing suspicion."
Murat smiled. "A wise idea, Cardinal. I'll go upstairs and tell them to prepare. They should leave without delay."
"I'll inform Gareth," Fonseca said, starting to gather his documents.
As Murat ascended the stairs, he could feel a new plan coursing through the veins of Rome. Time was running out… and with every minute, they drew closer to Leonardo.
⸻
By midday, Gareth, Balibey, and Cafer left the front gates of the mansion and melted into the streets of Rome. The weather was sunny, yet the city remained heavy with grief. The mourning atmosphere still clung to the air. The busy streets were filled with downcast faces. Some cried, others prayed. But all shared the same downward gaze.
The trio navigated the complex streets and maze-like alleys until they reached the city's back quarters. At last, they arrived in a district not far from the Vatican—yet morally worlds apart. This was one of the wounds Rome tried to cover in shame.
Both sides of the street were lined with neglected pastel-colored buildings. Red curtains hung in the windows, names were painted in curling letters on the doors, and sounds of laughter and faint music drifted from within. It was a corridor of sin, stretching from end to end.
Balibey wrinkled his nose and turned to Gareth:
"Such depravity at the foot of the Vatican… How does the Papacy allow this?"
Gareth averted his eyes toward the foggy glass of a nearby brothel and replied:
"Five years ago, this would've been unthinkable. But since then… no one interferes. Not the Church. Not the Papacy."
Balibey's face darkened. In his days back in Crimea, he had no tolerance for this kind of decay. "So Leonardo isn't just rotting the city with steel… but with sin," he muttered.
After a short walk, Gareth stopped in front of a building. A red lip was painted on the wall. Just above it, in large Latin letters, it read: Labia Rubra — Red Lip.
Gareth turned back to them with a slight bow.
"We're here," he said. "How you get in is up to you. But be careful… Paulo isn't just one of Leonardo's men—he's known to everyone here. One mistake, and all of Rome could turn against you."
Balibey and Cafer exchanged a glance.
The prey had walked right into the hunter's trap. But this time, no one knew for whom the trap was really set.