Chapter 5 - The Threat Marco Didn’t Make
The hospital returned to normal.
Or as normal as a trauma center could be.
Then, a week later, a man in a gray jacket entered the ER asking for me.
He wasn’t injured.
He wasn’t family of a patient.
He simply stood beside the nurses’ station and said:
“Claire Bennett.”
I approached cautiously.
“Yes?”
He handed me an envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Me leaving the hospital.
Another of Nathan getting into his car.
A third of Rachel’s husband entering the neonatal unit.
My stomach turned cold.
“What is this?”
The man smiled.
“A reminder.”
“From who?”
He walked away.
Security stopped him before he reached the door.
Within minutes, police arrived.
Nathan stood beside me in the staff office.
“This isn’t Marco.”
“You sound sure.”
“I am.”
“How?”
“Because if Marco wanted to scare us, he’d walk through the front door shouting.”
“That is unfortunately accurate.”
The security chief entered.
“The man isn’t talking.”
My phone rang.
Marco.
I answered.
“What?”
“That’s a warm greeting.”
“Someone just delivered surveillance photos of me and Nathan.”
Silence.
Then Marco’s voice changed.
“Where are you?”
“Hospital.”
“Stay there.”
“Marco—”
“Claire, listen to me.”
For the first time, he sounded frightened.
“Do not leave.”
He hung up.
Twenty minutes later, Marco and Salvatore arrived.
No shouting.
No spectacle.
Salvatore looked at the photographs.
His face hardened.
“Not ours.”
The police detective crossed his arms.
“You expect me to trust that?”
“No.”
Salvatore handed the photos back.
“But I know who took them.”
Marco stared at him.
“So do I.”
I looked between them.
“Would someone like to explain?”
Marco exhaled.
“Victor Santoro.”
Nathan frowned.
“Who?”
“My father’s former business partner.”
Salvatore corrected him.
“Former enemy.”
“That sounds healthier.”
Marco continued.
“He thinks my father was humiliated when I apologized here.”
“And?”
“He thinks the hospital made us look weak.”
I stared at him.
“That’s insane.”
Marco nodded.
“Welcome to my childhood.”
The detective looked at Salvatore.
“If you know where Santoro is—”
“I’ll cooperate.”
Marco turned.
“Dad.”
“I said cooperate.”
“That’s not how we handle Victor.”
Salvatore’s voice sharpened.
“It is now.”
Marco stared at him.
Salvatore stepped closer.
“You started this by bringing our name into a hospital.”
Marco said nothing.
“You want to repair what you broke? Then we do this legally.”
That word sounded strange coming from him.
But he meant it.
Over the next forty-eight hours, police uncovered enough evidence to arrest Santoro and several associates for stalking, intimidation, weapons violations, and an unrelated extortion case.
No shootout.
No revenge.
Just warrants, handcuffs, lawyers, and evidence.
When I saw Marco afterward, he looked almost disappointed.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” I said.
“No dramatic showdown?”
“You’re standing in an emergency room. We prefer fewer bullet wounds.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
Nathan approached.
“You’re late.”
Marco frowned.
“For what?”
“Orthopedics.”
Marco looked at his watch.
“Damn.”
Nathan pointed toward the waiting area.
“Sit.”
Marco sighed.
“You really enjoy this.”
May you like
Nathan smiled.
“A little.”
