Chapter 2 - The Call He Never Answered
"Then get your hands off the bed and let us save her."
The trauma surgeon's voice cut through the corridor.
Dominic Valente had spent twenty years teaching men to fear him. He had walked into rooms where armed enemies lowered their weapons at the sound of his name.
But the woman in blue scrubs standing between him and his bleeding wife did not care who he was.
"She's losing blood," the surgeon snapped. "Every second you keep us here is another second she doesn't have."
Dominic released the rail.
The gurney disappeared through the double doors.
He stood staring after it, his palms stained red.
For the first time in his adult life, he could not think of a single person he could threaten, bribe, or kill to change what was happening.
Behind him, Serena appeared in the doorway of her private suite.
"Dominic?"
He didn't answer.
She looked toward the trauma doors.
"Was that someone you know?"
"My wife."
The words came out like broken glass.
Serena blinked.
"Oh."
That was all.
Not Is she okay?
Not What happened?
Just a small, uncomfortable sound from a woman who had never imagined another person's suffering might interrupt her evening.
Then she touched his arm.
"Dominic, my doctor said I might need another IV. Can you come back?"
He turned toward her.
Something in his expression made her hand fall away.
"Go back to your room, Serena."
"But—"
"Now."
She retreated, her face hardening.
Dominic pulled out his phone.
There were three missed calls from Clara.
The first had come at 6:42 p.m.
The second at 6:57.
The third at 7:11.
He had silenced his phone because Serena wanted his attention.
Below the calls was a voice message.
Twenty-seven seconds.
He pressed play.
At first there was only traffic.
Then Clara's voice.
"Dominic, I know you're busy. I'm sorry to bother you."
He closed his eyes.
Even frightened, she was apologizing.
"I found something today. Something about the accounts. I think someone inside the family has been moving money without your knowledge."
A horn sounded.
Her breathing quickened.
"I don't want to tell you over the phone. Please, just come home tonight. I need to show you something."
A pause.
Then, softer:
"And Dominic? I know about Serena."
The recording ended.
Dominic stood perfectly still.
He played it again.
And again.
On the fourth time, he noticed something he had missed.
A faint mechanical clicking behind Clara's voice.
Then a man's voice, distant but unmistakable.
"She's turning onto Michigan."
Dominic's blood went cold.
That was not a random accident.
Someone had been following his wife.
He called his head of security.
"Marco. Where was Clara's protection detail today?"
There was a silence.
"Boss?"
"Answer me."
"Mrs. Valente canceled the detail this morning."
"Who authorized that?"
"Your office."
Dominic frowned.
"I never authorized it."
Another pause.
"Sir, the instruction came through your executive assistant. She said you wanted Mrs. Valente given privacy."
Dominic's jaw tightened.
His executive assistant had been on vacation for four days.
"Send me the order."
"Right away."
"And Marco?"
"Yes?"
"Nobody leaves the hospital without my permission."
He ended the call.
A trauma nurse approached carrying a transparent plastic bag.
"Mr. Valente?"
He turned.
"These are your wife's belongings. We need someone to take custody of them."
Inside were Clara's torn purse, a bloodstained silk scarf, a cracked phone, and her wedding ring.
Dominic stared at the ring.
"Why did you take it off?"
"We had to remove her jewelry before surgery."
He accepted the bag.
The diamond looked impossibly small in his hand.
Five years earlier, he had placed that ring on Clara's finger in front of three hundred people.
He remembered the cameras.
The expensive flowers.
The applause.
He remembered almost nothing about her face.
Now he would have given everything he owned to see her open her eyes.
"How bad is it?" he asked.
The nurse hesitated.
"She's critically injured. The surgeons are working on internal bleeding."
"Will she live?"
"I can't promise you that."
He swallowed.
"Was she conscious when they brought her in?"
"For a few moments."
"Did she say anything?"
The nurse looked down.
"She kept asking us not to call someone."
Dominic felt his stomach tighten.
"Who?"
The nurse hesitated again.
"Her husband."
For a moment, the corridor seemed to tilt.
"Why?"
"She said he was with someone who needed him more."
Dominic looked at the blood on his hands.
He had taught Clara that her pain was an inconvenience.
Even while dying, she had believed it.
The trauma doors opened.
A surgeon stepped into the hallway.
"Mr. Valente?"
Dominic moved toward her.
"Your wife suffered severe internal injuries. We've controlled one source of bleeding, but there's something else you need to know."
He stopped.
The surgeon studied him carefully.
"Mrs. Valente was approximately eleven weeks pregnant."
The words did not register.
Not at first.
Then Dominic's knees nearly gave way.
"Pregnant?"
"Yes."
He shook his head.
"That's impossible. She would have told me."
The surgeon said nothing.
Dominic remembered the breakfast table.
Clara pushing away her coffee.
The way she had rested one hand against her stomach.
Her quiet smile when he asked why she wasn't drinking.
Just trying to be healthier.
He had not asked another question.
"Where's the baby?" he whispered.
The surgeon's expression changed.
"We're doing everything we can."
Dominic gripped the back of a chair.
"And Clara?"
"She's still in surgery."
A long silence followed.
Then the surgeon said the words that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
"Mr. Valente, someone deliberately interfered with the safety systems in your wife's vehicle. The police are treating this as a possible criminal attack."
Dominic slowly lifted his head.
Before he could speak, his phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Clara standing outside a downtown office building that afternoon.
A red circle had been drawn around her stomach.
May you like
Beneath it were six words.
SHE SHOULD HAVE KEPT HER SECRET.
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