THE MAFIA BOSS WHO LOST HIS LEGS—AND THE NURSE WHO REFUSED TO FEAR HIM

For one terrible second, I couldn't breathe.

"My bag?"

Dante's expression was unreadable.

"Police found a small container of automotive fluid and a handwritten note inside it. The note supposedly describes how to sabotage my vehicle."

"I've never seen either of those things."

"I believe you."

The words startled me more than the accusation.

"You do?"

"If you wanted me dead, you wouldn't spend your mornings helping me move my legs."

It wasn't a declaration of affection. It was a practical conclusion from a man who understood calculated violence.

Still, I felt something loosen in my chest.

Then his phone rang again.

This time, he put it on speaker.

A male voice introduced himself as Inspector Carvalho. He explained that Augusto had been taken to a police station and that I was expected to cooperate with the investigation.

"I'll come," I said.

Dante's hand closed around his phone.

"She won't come alone."

The inspector hesitated.

"Mr. Montenegro, you understand that this is a criminal investigation."

"And you understand that an innocent employee will not be intimidated into making a statement without legal counsel."

The call ended shortly afterward.

Dante summoned his attorney, a sharp-eyed woman named Renata Costa, who arrived within forty minutes carrying two phones, a leather briefcase, and the expression of someone who had already found three problems with the police report.

She reviewed the photograph of the alleged evidence.

"Who searched the bag?"

"According to the report, a housekeeper discovered it," Dante answered.

"Name?"

"Lucia Ferreira."

Renata looked up.

"Where is she?"

"She left the property yesterday."

"Convenient."

I remembered Isabella standing outside the office, asking about my folder.

"She knew my bag was in the library," I said. "She took the medical records from me the night before the photograph appeared."

Dante's eyes narrowed.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't know it mattered."

Renata closed the folder.

"It matters now. But suspicion is not proof. We need records, timelines, and witnesses."

We went to the police station that afternoon.

Augusto sat in a small interview room with his hands folded on the table. He looked older than he had the previous day.

When he saw Dante, he stood instinctively, then stopped, remembering the guards outside the room.

"Sir, I didn't do this."

"I know," Dante said.

Augusto's eyes filled with tears.

"I would never hurt you."

Dante's expression softened.

"I know that, too."

The old butler looked at me.

"I'm sorry, Miss Oliveira. I should never have brought you into this house."

I sat opposite him.

"You didn't put anything in my bag."

"No. But I should have told you more about what happened before the accident."

Renata leaned forward.

"Then tell us now."

Augusto hesitated.

He explained that Dante had been driving home from a private meeting when the accident occurred. His regular driver had been dismissed that morning after an argument. Dante had insisted on driving himself.

"Who was at the meeting?" Renata asked.

"Mr. Gabriel Montenegro."

Dante went rigid.

"You said Gabriel was dead."

"I said the family believed he was dead."

"Why would my brother meet me if he was dead?"

Augusto lowered his head.

"Because I saw him with my own eyes."

The room went silent.

Augusto described a man wearing a dark cap who had met Dante in a private garage. He had recognized the scar along the man's jaw, a scar Gabriel had received when they were children.

The meeting lasted less than fifteen minutes.

Afterward, Dante left alone.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dante demanded.

"Because your father ordered me never to speak of Gabriel again. And after the accident, I was afraid."

"Afraid of whom?"

Augusto looked toward the observation window.

"Your fiancée."

Dante's expression changed.

Augusto continued.

"Isabella visited the garage that afternoon. She told me that if I ever mentioned Gabriel's name, everyone in this house would suffer."

Renata wrote something in her notebook.

"Did you see her touch the car?"

"No."

"Did you hear her discuss the brakes?"

"No."

"Then we have a threat, not proof of sabotage."

It was frustrating, but Renata was right.

The evidence against me was suspiciously convenient. The evidence against Isabella was circumstantial. And Gabriel, the supposedly dead brother, had appeared in the story without leaving anything we could independently verify.

We left the station with Augusto's release pending further investigation.

Back at the mansion, Dante refused dinner.

I found him in his office, staring at the photographs of the accident.

"You should eat something," I said.

"I should have killed Gabriel when I had the chance."

"That isn't going to solve anything."

He turned sharply.

"You don't understand what he did."

"Then tell me."

He described the last night he had seen his brother. Their father had accused Gabriel of stealing money from the family. Dante had been ordered to bring him home.

Instead, Gabriel disappeared.

Dante spent months searching for him. Then a burned vehicle was found outside a rural property, and the family received information suggesting Gabriel had died.

"I stopped looking," Dante said. "I thought I had lost him."

"And now you think he tried to kill you."

"I think someone wants me to believe that."

He looked at me.

"Marina, if my brother is alive, he knows things about this family that could destroy everything."

Before I could answer, Renata entered with a message from the police.

The fingerprints on the container found in my bag did not match mine.

They belonged to Lucia Ferreira, the housekeeper who had supposedly discovered the evidence.

But Lucia had vanished.

Renata placed a second document on the desk.

"There's more," she said. "The container was purchased three days before the accident using a company credit card."

Dante stared at the account number.