Chapter 4 - WHAT VITTORIO WAS HIDING
“I found it in Vittorio's car.”
Massimo's first instinct was exactly what I feared.
He reached for the phone.
I took it away.
His head snapped toward me.
“Give me that.”
“No.”
“Tessa.”
“If Vittorio tried to kill you, calling him before we know anything is stupid.”
His eyes flashed.
“You don't call me stupid.”
“I called the decision stupid.”
Lucia surprised me by saying, “She's right.”
Massimo stared at his mother.
“You've had four months to be right.”
The words landed hard.
Lucia lowered her eyes.
“I know.”
That was the first crack I'd seen in her.
She explained that Vittorio had returned to the estate around midnight after Massimo's crash. His car had mud on the tires.
Lucia later found Elena's necklace beneath the passenger seat.
“Why didn't you confront him?” I asked.
“I did.”
“And?”
“He said Elena had been in his car earlier that afternoon.”
Massimo laughed bitterly.
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
That was painfully human.
Not a mastermind.
A mother choosing the explanation that didn't require believing one son had destroyed another.
Lucia admitted something worse.
After the accident, Dr. Rinaldi told her Massimo's agitation could cause another spinal complication. Rinaldi gave her tablets to administer whenever Massimo became “overstimulated.”
The tablets I had tested.
“You've been sedating me?”
Lucia covered her mouth.
“I thought I was helping you sleep.”
“For four months?”
“Not every day.”
Massimo turned away.
His hands shook.
I suddenly understood why three nurses might have left.
They hadn't simply faced a cruel patient.
They had entered a house where every caregiver was receiving contradictory instructions.
Massimo from the chair.
Lucia from fear.
Rinaldi from authority.
Vittorio from power.
Nobody knew whom they were actually supposed to obey.
That evening, Massimo refused therapy.
I found him alone in the rehabilitation room.
“You're late,” I said.
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
He gave me a look that had probably terrified grown men.
I dragged a chair beside him.
“You can threaten me after ten repetitions.”
“I don't want your motivational nonsense.”
“Good. I don't have any.”
Silence.
Then he said, “My mother drugged me.”
“Your mother gave you medication prescribed by your physician.”
“Same result.”
“Different motive.”
He looked at me.
“That matters.”
“Does it?”
“It should.”
He rubbed his thumb over the cracked watch.
“My father used to say intentions are what weak men discuss after consequences arrive.”
“Your father sounds exhausting.”
Massimo actually smiled.
“He was.”
“Was?”
“He died six years ago.”
I pointed toward the parallel bars.
“Then today you get to ignore him.”
His expression softened.
“You always this irritating?”
“Clinically.”
He stood.
Thirty seconds.
Forty.
One minute.
Then one step.
Another.
On the third, his left knee collapsed.
I caught him.
We ended up on the padded mat, his arm around me, my palm against his chest.
He was laughing.
Not the short, cynical laugh from our first meeting.
Actually laughing.
“You dropped a mob boss.”
“You fell on a doctoral student.”
His eyes held mine.
The room changed.
I felt it.
So did he.
Massimo lifted one hand toward my face.
Then stopped.
“Tessa.”
“Don't.”
His hand lowered.
“You're my patient.”
“I know.”
“And I'm here for three months.”
His smile disappeared.
“I know that too.”
That hurt more than it should have.
The next morning, Vittorio summoned me to the library.
I almost laughed at the word summoned.
He stood beside the fireplace holding an envelope.
“Twenty-five thousand.”
I didn't touch it.
“For?”
“You've done excellent work. Take it and finish your doctorate.”
“And leave?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“My brother is becoming emotionally dependent on you.”
“Your brother is becoming physically independent.”
“Same problem, from where I stand.”
There it was.
Not jealousy.
Control.
“You don't want him walking.”
Vittorio's face tightened.
“I want him alive.”
“Those aren't opposites.”
“In our family, sometimes they are.”
He moved closer.
“You see a difficult patient. I see a man who, before the crash, was preparing to start a war.”
“With whom?”
Vittorio hesitated.
“Men who killed our father.”
That was new.
“Elena knew?”
“She was the one trying to stop him.”
“By drugging him?”
“No.”
Vittorio's answer was immediate.
And believable.
“She begged me to help her convince Massimo to leave Boston with Leo.”
My certainty shifted.
“What happened the night of the crash?”
“I followed them.”
The black car.
Leo's drawing.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Elena called me.”
That was another piece turned upside down.
Vittorio opened a desk drawer.
Inside was a torn train ticket.
Boston to New York.
Three seats.
Dated the morning after the crash.
“Elena planned to take Massimo and Leo away.”
Massimo had told me Elena might have betrayed him.
Instead, she'd been trying to save him.
“Then why was her necklace in your car?”
“Because I found her beside the road.”
My heart kicked.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“What happened?”
“She was bleeding. Disoriented. Massimo was trapped in the car.”
“You left him?”
“I called our men. Then Elena grabbed me and said something that changed everything.”
“What?”
Vittorio looked toward the doorway.
“She said the crash wasn't meant for Massimo.”
A voice behind us said, “Finish that sentence.”
Massimo.
He was standing.
Not well.
One hand gripped the doorframe.
His legs trembled violently.
But he was standing without his chair.
Vittorio went white.
Massimo took one uneven step into the library.
“Who was it meant for?”
Vittorio's composure finally broke.
“For Leo.”
Massimo stopped.
“What?”
“Elena discovered someone had been using your organization to move money through a children's charity. Leo saw something he wasn't supposed to see.”
Massimo's breathing turned shallow.
“What did he see?”
Vittorio looked directly at his brother.
“Our father’s watch.”
Massimo glanced down at the cracked silver watch in his hand.
Vittorio shook his head.
“Not that one.”
He reached into his pocket and placed an identical silver watch on the desk.
Same face.
Same engraving.
Except this watch was running.
Massimo stared at it.
“Our father only had one.”
Vittorio's voice dropped.
“No, Massimo.”
He turned the watch over.
On the back were three initials.
May you like
A.P.
“Your father had two sons before you were born.”
