Chapter 8 - THE LAST ROSSI WARThe bullet hit Vincent beneath the shoulder.
Pain spun him backward.
He crashed against the desk.
On the phone screen, Clara shouted.
Adrian kicked the device away.
“Still dramatic,” he said.
Vincent pressed one hand against the wound.
“You always talked too much.”
Adrian smiled.
“You always underestimated me.”
Blood spread between Vincent’s fingers.
Federal agents were elsewhere in the estate.
Adrian had entered through tunnels built before Vincent was born.
Family secrets.
Again.
“Why Matteo?” Vincent asked.
Adrian tilted his head.
“You know why.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Buying time?”
“Maybe.”
Adrian laughed.
“You were supposed to drink Bellamy’s compound. It would have made you weak, confused. Gabriel’s death would destabilize the organization. Then you would have had an unfortunate medical complication.”
“And Matteo took the drink.”
“Children grab things.”
Vincent’s hatred became almost impossible to contain.
Adrian continued casually.
“I adjusted. Then the bomb left him alive.”
“You could have stopped.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because once Gabriel’s evidence disappeared, Matteo became the only unpredictable variable.”
“He was seven.”
“He saw me.”
Adrian shrugged.
“You would be amazed what children remember.”
Vincent stared at him.
“You destroyed his blood samples.”
“I protected myself.”
“You watched him spend fourteen months believing his body betrayed him.”
Something flickered in Adrian’s expression.
Annoyance.
Not guilt.
“He was already damaged.”
Vincent’s voice became quiet.
“No.”
Adrian frowned.
“My son was injured.”
Vincent slowly stood despite the pain.
“You’re damaged.”
Adrian raised the gun.
A shot cracked.
Not his.
Adrian’s weapon flew from his hand.
Dominic appeared in the doorway.
“Step away.”
Adrian lunged for Vincent.
They collided.
Vincent’s injured shoulder screamed.
Adrian struck the wound intentionally.
Vincent fell.
Dominic aimed but couldn’t fire without risking Vincent.
Adrian grabbed a letter opener from the desk.
Before he could use it, Vincent drove his head into Adrian’s face.
Both men fell.
Dominic pinned Adrian.
Federal agents rushed in.
Adrian screamed.
“This family belongs to me!”
Vincent sat against the desk, bleeding.
“No.”
Adrian struggled.
“I built half of it!”
“You poisoned an eight-year-old.”
“I did what was necessary.”
Vincent looked at the agents.
“Take him.”
Adrian laughed.
“You’re letting strangers put a Rossi in handcuffs?”
Vincent’s expression became almost peaceful.
“Yes.”
“You’re weak.”
“No.”
Vincent thought of Gabriel.
Of Matteo.
Of Elena.
“I’m ending it.”
Adrian was dragged away.
Vincent collapsed seconds later.
At the cabin, Clara watched the video call screen go black.
She tried Vincent again.
No answer.
Matteo saw her face.
“What?”
“He’s hurt.”
The boy began panicking.
“No.”
“Matteo—”
“No!”
His hands shook.
“Dad said stay!”
“He did.”
“He left!”
Clara knelt.
“He didn’t leave you.”
Tears streamed down Matteo’s face.
“Everyone leaves.”
The words broke her.
His mother.
Gabriel.
Caretakers who lasted weeks.
A father emotionally lost inside grief.
Clara cupped his face.
“Listen to me.”
He sobbed.
“People can love you and still get hurt. Those are different things.”
Matteo shook his head.
“Your father stayed when you asked him.”
“He got shot.”
“Yes.”
Her honesty startled him.
“But he didn’t choose to abandon you.”
Matteo’s breathing became ragged.
Clara placed his hands against her shoulders.
“Breathe.”
He knew the ritual now.
“In.”
They inhaled.
“Out.”
Again.
His panic slowly eased.
Three hours later, Dominic called.
Vincent had survived surgery.
The bullet missed his lung and major artery.
Clara covered her face.
Matteo saw the answer before she spoke.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
The boy began crying again.
This time from relief.
Two days later, Matteo entered Vincent’s hospital room.
His wheelchair stopped beside the bed.
Vincent looked pale and furious at being hospitalized.
“You look terrible,” Clara said.
Vincent looked at her.
“Good morning to you too.”
Matteo smiled.
Vincent reached for his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
Matteo stared.
“For getting shot?”
“For scaring you.”
Matteo squeezed his fingers.
“Stay.”
Vincent smiled.
“I plan to.”
Clara stood near the window.
Vincent looked at her.
“You too.”
She blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“Stay.”
Matteo immediately nodded.
Clara laughed softly.
“You two have rehearsed this.”
Vincent’s expression became serious.
“I mean it.”
The room shifted.
Clara looked away.
“My father’s investigation is going public.”
“I know.”
“The press will come after me.”
“I know.”
“They’ll say I infiltrated your house.”
“Probably.”
“They may say I manipulated Matteo.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“Then they can say it from somewhere I can’t hear them.”
Despite herself, Clara smiled.
“You can’t threaten newspapers.”
“I can dislike them aggressively.”
Matteo laughed.
Clara shook her head.
But later that afternoon, headlines appeared.
DISGRACED SCIENTIST’S DAUGHTER INFILTRATED ROSSI HOME
SECRET CARETAKER CONNECTION TO ILLEGAL MEDICAL TRIALS
WAS PARALYZED HEIR USED AS EXPERIMENT?
Clara read every word.
By evening, reporters crowded outside the hospital.
She made her decision.
She packed quietly.
Matteo was sleeping.
Vincent was in imaging.
She wrote a note.
Not to Vincent.
To Matteo.
You did nothing wrong. Your body is not your enemy. Keep being brave enough to tell people what you need.
She placed it beside his chessboard.
Then walked toward the elevator.
The doors opened.
Dominic stood inside.
He looked at her suitcase.
“No.”
Clara stared.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Dominic.”
“Boss’s orders.”
“He doesn’t know I’m leaving.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m trying to protect Matteo.”
Dominic sighed.
“Everyone in this family uses that sentence before doing something stupid.”
She almost laughed.
Then a voice came from behind her.
“Clara.”
Matteo.
She turned.
He was sitting alone in his wheelchair at the end of the hallway.
His face was devastated.
“You leave?”
Clara’s heart broke.
She walked toward him.
“I thought it might make things easier.”
“For who?”
The question sounded exactly like Vincent.
Clara almost smiled.
“For you.”
Matteo shook his head.
“No.”
She knelt.
“The reporters—”
“No.”
“Your family—”
“You family.”
Clara stopped breathing.
Matteo’s eyes filled.
“You family.”
Behind him stood Vincent.
Hospital gown.
Bandaged shoulder.
IV pole in one hand.
Absolutely furious.
“You heard the kid.”
Clara looked between them.
For years she had believed leaving first was how people avoided causing more pain.
Her father had taught her that love could become possession.
Vincent and Matteo were teaching her something different.
Sometimes staying was the braver act.
Clara slowly set down her suitcase.
Matteo smiled.
Vincent exhaled.
Then a nurse appeared behind him.
“Mr. Rossi!”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“You are supposed to be in bed!”
Clara folded her arms.
“I think she’s talking to you.”
Vincent glared.
May you like
Matteo started laughing.
And for the first time, the sound followed them all the way back into the hospital room.
