Chapter 2 - THE NAME THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD
The first thing Gabriel Rossi said when I woke up was not thank you.
It was something far more frightening.
“Tell me exactly what you saw before they started shooting.”
I stared at him through the haze of pain medication.
He stood beside my hospital bed, still wearing the white shirt that had been soaked in my blood. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and there was a small cut beneath his left eye.
For a man who owned half the businesses in upstate New York, he looked as though he hadn't slept in days.
“Leo,” I whispered.
“He's alive.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
That single word was worth every ounce of pain tearing through my body.
“Clara. Look at me.”
I opened my eyes again.
Gabriel had never called me by my first name before.
For two years, I had been Miss Bennett when someone needed something and simply "the girl" when they thought I couldn't hear.
Now he was standing close enough for me to see the exhaustion in his face.
“Three men came through the glass,” I whispered. “They weren't looking for anything. They went straight for Leo.”
Gabriel's jaw tightened.
“Did one of them say something?”
I searched my memory.
Breaking glass.
Blue paint.
Leo's terrified little face.
And something else.
“One of them shouted that they had the right room.”
Gabriel went completely still.
“Are you certain?”
I nodded, then immediately regretted it when pain shot down my spine.
He turned toward the door.
“Get Pierce.”
A middle-aged woman in blue scrubs entered before he could leave.
“Mr. Rossi, your patient needs rest.”
Gabriel didn't move.
The woman looked directly at him.
“I don't care how many men are standing outside this room. One more interrogation, and I'll have you removed.”
For a moment, I thought he might argue.
Instead, he stepped back.
“This is Dr. Mara Keene,” he told me. “She's keeping you alive.”
Dr. Keene checked my monitor.
“You've had two surgeries, Clara. One bullet damaged your shoulder, another fractured a rib, and the third lodged dangerously close to your spine.”
My stomach dropped.
“Can I walk?”
“We have movement in both feet. That's encouraging. But recovery will take time.”
I tried lifting my right arm.
The pain nearly made me scream.
“Don't,” she warned gently.
I looked around.
The room was beautiful. Too beautiful.
Private bathroom. Fresh flowers. Expensive furniture.
And beyond the window, a tall stone wall surrounded by armed guards.
“Where am I?”
“A private medical facility,” Gabriel answered.
“Am I allowed to leave?”
Neither of them answered immediately.
That frightened me more than the machines.
“Clara,” Gabriel said, “someone knew exactly where my son would be at 3:15. Until I know who, nobody connected to that room is safe.”
“I want my family to know I'm alive.”
“They've been notified.”
I stared at him.
“You called my grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her I was shot?”
His expression changed.
“I told her you were injured protecting a child.”
“That's not the same thing.”
“No,” he admitted. “It isn't.”
Before I could answer, Dr. Keene adjusted my medication.
Gabriel stepped toward the door.
“Mr. Rossi?”
He stopped.
“Please don't fire Mrs. Gable,” I whispered. “She was sick. She didn't know.”
Something dark passed through his eyes.
“We'll see.”
Then he left.
For the next several hours, I drifted between sleep and pain.
When I woke again, a small wooden train sat on my bedside table.
Its wheels were crooked.
There was blue paint on the smokestack.
I recognized it immediately.
Leo's favorite engine.
Beneath it lay a folded piece of paper.
Three shaky words were written in green crayon.
FOR MISS CLARA.
My eyes filled with tears.
I reached for it with my good hand.
On the other side was a drawing.
Two people stood beneath a yellow sun. One was small, with brown hair. The other was taller and wore a white dress.
Between them ran a blue train.
Leo hadn't drawn his father.
He had drawn me.
The door opened.
Gabriel entered carrying a paper cup of coffee.
He saw the drawing in my hand.
“He insisted you have that.”
I swallowed.
“Does he know what happened?”
“He knows you were hurt.”
“Has anyone explained why?”
Gabriel looked away.
“He hasn't asked.”
“Maybe he's afraid of the answer.”
Silence settled between us.
Finally, Gabriel pulled a chair beside my bed.
“Leo hasn't spoken more than a few words at a time since his mother died.”
“I know.”
“He doesn't like strangers touching him. He doesn't sleep without the hallway light.”
“I know that, too.”
Gabriel studied me.
“How?”
“Because I live in your house, Mr. Rossi.”
He looked almost wounded.
I continued quietly.
“I know he eats the crust off his toast first. I know he hates thunderstorms. And I know he waits by the window every Thursday because that's when your car usually comes home early.”
Gabriel lowered his coffee.
Nobody had ever spoken to him that way in my presence.
“He waits for me?”
“Every Thursday.”
He stared at the floor.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said something I never expected.
“I thought I was giving him everything.”
I looked toward Leo's drawing.
“He doesn't need everything.”
Gabriel followed my gaze.
“He needs you to come home,” I finished.
The words seemed to land harder than any accusation.
An hour later, a man in a dark suit entered.
Adrian Pierce.
Gabriel's security director.
He carried a tablet and looked deeply uncomfortable.
“We found something, Boss.”
Gabriel stood.
“Tell me.”
Pierce glanced at me.
“She's already involved,” Gabriel said.
Pierce placed the tablet on the table.
“The perimeter cameras went offline at 3:11. Four minutes before the SUV reached the fence.”
Gabriel's face hardened.
“Equipment failure?”
“No.”
Pierce touched the screen.
“Someone manually disabled the system from an authorized estate terminal.”
“Which terminal?”
“The old family office.”
Gabriel said nothing.
Pierce continued.
“We traced the authorization. It wasn't a stolen guard credential or an outside intrusion.”
A strange tension filled the room.
“The system recognized a valid family access code.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“Whose?”
Pierce hesitated.
Then he turned the tablet toward us.
One name glowed on the screen.
ELENA ROSSI.
Gabriel's dead wife.
I looked up at him.
All the color had drained from his face.
“That account was closed three years ago,” he said.
Pierce shook his head.
“Someone reactivated it six days ago.”
Gabriel gripped the edge of the table.
“Who had the authority to do that?”
Pierce swallowed.
“Only three people, sir.”
He looked at Gabriel.
“You. Me.”
Then he paused.
“And the man who was appointed to protect Leo if anything ever happened to you.”
Gabriel's expression changed from anger to something colder.
“Victor Sloane.”
Pierce nodded.
And in that moment, I remembered something that made my blood run cold.
The afternoon before the shooting, Victor had been standing outside the sunroom.
Watching Leo paint.
And when Leo accidentally knocked over his cup of blue paint, Victor hadn't looked at the mess.
May you like
He had looked at the wooden train beside it.
As if he recognized something he had spent years trying to find.
