Chapter 3 - The Betrayal Inside the House
The laboratory results arrived forty-eight hours later.
Reeves placed the report on Massimo’s desk.
“You were right,” Massimo said after reading the first page.
“Unfortunately.”
The tablets contained a powerful combination of medications capable of suppressing muscle activity and interfering with neurological recovery.
Not enough to kill him.
Enough to keep him weak.
Enough to make progress almost impossible.
Massimo slowly closed the folder.
“Could Hale have done this alone?”
“I don’t know.”
Massimo looked at Marco.
“What did you find?”
Marco placed several printed records on the desk.
“Dr. Reeves called the mansion three times.”
“And?”
“All three calls were logged by Mr. Foster’s office.”
Dean.
Massimo leaned back.
“What about the ambush?”
Marco hesitated.
“Something bothered me.”
“Say it.”
“The route change.”
Massimo’s eyes narrowed.
His convoy had changed routes seventeen minutes before the Brooklyn Avenue attack.
Only four people knew.
Massimo.
Dean.
His driver.
And Camille.
The driver had died during the ambush.
Massimo stared at the names.
“Bring Dean and Camille to dinner tonight.”
Reeves looked at him.
“You shouldn’t confront them yet.”
“I’m not confronting anyone.”
Massimo slid the report into a drawer.
“I’m having dinner with my family.”
That evening, Camille entered the dining room wearing an ivory dress.
Dean followed in a black suit.
Massimo sat at the head of the table in his wheelchair.
Nina sat beside Carla near the kitchen door, coloring a picture.
Dean frowned.
“Why is the maid eating with us?”
“Carla isn’t eating with us.”
Massimo poured wine.
“She’s working.”
Camille glanced at Nina.
“And the child?”
“She’s coloring.”
“At dinner?”
Massimo looked at her.
“Does that disturb you?”
Camille forced a smile.
“Of course not.”
Dean sat.
“What’s this about?”
Massimo raised his glass.
“My recovery.”
Dean relaxed slightly.
“Hale says there’s been no change.”
“That’s correct.”
Camille touched Massimo’s shoulder.
“You shouldn’t torture yourself.”
“I’m not.”
He looked at her hand until she removed it.
“I’ve accepted reality.”
Dean nodded.
“That’s good.”
“Actually, I’ve made a decision.”
Massimo placed an envelope on the table.
“I’m transferring permanent control of the family businesses.”
Dean stopped moving.
“To whom?”
“You.”
Silence.
Massimo watched him.
Camille’s lips parted.
Dean stared at the envelope.
“Why?”
“Because I’m finished.”
“You’re thirty-eight.”
“And trapped in a chair.”
Dean’s expression softened.
“You’re still Massimo Rinaldi.”
“Not the one this organization needs.”
Massimo pushed the envelope toward him.
Dean reached for it.
Then stopped.
“You’re sure?”
Massimo smiled.
“Take it.”
Dean picked up the envelope.
His eyes flicked toward Camille.
A tiny glance.
Less than a second.
But Massimo saw it.
So did Marco.
Nina looked up from her drawing.
“Mr. Massimo?”
“Yes?”
“You dropped your napkin.”
Everyone looked down.
The napkin lay beside his right foot.
Nina jumped from her chair.
“I’ll get it.”
“No.”
Massimo’s voice came too quickly.
Nina froze.
Dean looked toward him.
Massimo smiled.
“Finish your picture.”
Carla retrieved the napkin instead.
Dinner continued.
Later that night, Dean entered Camille’s bedroom.
He closed the door.
Neither noticed the tiny recorder Marco had installed behind an antique clock.
Camille spoke first.
“He signed it?”
“Not yet.”
“He gave you the documents.”
“Preliminary transfer.”
“When is it final?”
“Friday.”
Camille exhaled.
“Then Hale needs to keep him stable until Friday.”
Dean poured himself a drink.
“Hale is nervous.”
“Because of the pill?”
“Because of the child.”
Camille turned.
“She saw too much.”
Dean’s expression hardened.
“She’s three years old.”
“Three-year-olds talk.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting Carla and her daughter should leave.”
“Massimo won’t allow it.”
“Then make him.”
Dean slammed his glass down.
“Stop.”
Camille stared at him.
“What?”
“This was never supposed to involve a child.”
Camille laughed bitterly.
“You helped arrange an ambush.”
Dean stepped toward her.
“The ambush was supposed to scare him into stepping back.”
“Three men died.”
“That wasn’t the plan.”
“And Massimo survived.”
Dean looked away.
Camille lowered her voice.
“But he survived broken.”
Neither of them heard the footsteps outside.
Massimo sat in the dark corridor.
Marco stood behind his wheelchair holding headphones.
Massimo slowly removed them.
His face showed nothing.
Marco whispered, “What do you want me to do?”
Massimo stared at Camille’s door.
“Twelve years.”
“Sir?”
“I trusted him for twelve years.”
Marco waited.
Massimo turned his wheelchair around.
“Do nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Not yet.”
He looked down at his motionless legs.
“They wanted a helpless man.”
May you like
His right foot moved slightly on the footrest.
“So that’s exactly what we’re going to give them.”
