Chapter 2 - The First Word in Five Years
Lorenzo Moretti had negotiated with senators, watched enemies beg for their lives, and ordered men removed from his organization without losing a minute of sleep.
Yet as he stood outside his father's bedroom, he discovered that he was afraid to turn the doorknob.
He had visited Giovanni only twice in the past year.
The first time, his father had been asleep. The second time, Lorenzo had arrived after a brutal meeting in Manhattan, sat beside the wheelchair for eleven minutes, and left without saying anything meaningful.
He told himself Giovanni couldn't understand him.
He told himself the sight of his father's helplessness interfered with the decisions required to keep the family alive.
The truth was less flattering.
Every time Lorenzo looked at the man who had once seemed invincible, he remembered the last argument they'd had.
Five years earlier, Giovanni had warned him that trusting blood was more dangerous than trusting money.
Lorenzo had called the warning paranoia.
Three weeks later, Giovanni suffered a stroke in the middle of a family dinner.
Now Lorenzo opened the bedroom door.
The first thing he noticed was the smell of lavender.
The second was the fire.
The third was the old heated blanket folded neatly across his father's knees.
"Father?"
Giovanni sat beside the window, dressed in a clean sweater. His silver hair had been combed, and a small vase of fresh flowers stood on the table.
For one impossible second, Lorenzo thought his father looked better than he had in years.
Then he noticed the wheelchair's worn armrests and the faint bruise near Giovanni's wrist.
He turned toward the doorway.
"Who takes care of him?"
Mrs. Gable appeared almost immediately.
"I supervise everything personally, sir."
"That's not what I asked."
"The staff rotates, naturally. Your father requires extensive assistance."
Lorenzo approached the wheelchair.
"Can you hear me, Father?"
Giovanni's eyes moved toward him.
Lorenzo crouched and took his hand.
"I'm home now. I'll make sure everything is taken care of."
His father stared at him.
A finger moved.
It was so slight Lorenzo almost missed it.
He straightened sharply.
"Did you see that?"
Mrs. Gable gave a practiced, sympathetic smile.
"Reflexes, sir. The doctors explained that these movements don't necessarily indicate awareness."
Lorenzo looked back at Giovanni.
His father's eyes remained fixed on him.
Something about that gaze made his stomach tighten.
"Bring me his medical records."
"Of course."
"And his medication schedule. Every prescription, every dose, every physician's report for the past five years."
For the first time, Mrs. Gable's composure faltered.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Moretti?"
"I haven't decided yet."
He dismissed her and remained beside his father for another twenty minutes.
When he finally left, Giovanni's eyes followed him to the door.
And as the latch clicked into place, a single tear slipped down the old man's cheek.
Nora was carrying clean towels through the service corridor when Mrs. Gable cornered her.
"You've been spending far too much time upstairs."
Nora tightened her grip on the towels.
"I was making sure Mr. Giovanni had everything he needed."
"You're a maid, not a nurse."
"He needed a clean blanket."
"And now the master is asking questions."
Mrs. Gable stepped closer.
"Did you tell him anything?"
"No."
"Did you complain about his care?"
"No, ma'am."
"Then keep your mouth shut."
Nora lowered her eyes.
Mrs. Gable seized her wrist, pressing directly against the bruises she'd left earlier.
"You have a job because I allow you to have one. You have a roof because I allow you to have one. Remember that before you decide to play the hero."
Nora winced.
From the far end of the corridor, a man's voice interrupted them.
"Take your hand off her."
Lorenzo stood beneath the archway.
Mrs. Gable released Nora immediately.
"Mr. Moretti! I was merely correcting a misunderstanding."
Lorenzo's gaze dropped to Nora's wrist.
"Is that what you call it?"
Nora pulled her sleeve down.
"Please, sir. It's nothing."
"Your name?"
"Nora, sir. Nora Bennett."
His eyes moved to her swollen belly.
"How far along?"
"Six months."
"And you're carrying laundry through the house?"
Mrs. Gable hurried to intervene.
"She's quite capable of fulfilling her duties."
"I asked her a question."
Nora swallowed.
"Yes, sir. I can work."
Lorenzo studied her face. He saw exhaustion, fear, and something he recognized from his own childhood: the determination not to give a powerful person the satisfaction of watching you break.
"You're finished for today," he said.
Mrs. Gable's mouth opened.
"Sir, we have a schedule—"
"Then change it."
He turned to Nora.
"Have dinner. See the doctor tomorrow. My staff will arrange it."
Nora stared at him.
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me yet."
His voice hardened.
"If someone has been mistreating my father, I intend to find out who."
He walked away.
Mrs. Gable waited until he disappeared before leaning close to Nora's ear.
"You've just made yourself my enemy."
Nora watched her leave.
Then she returned to room 4B.
She didn't know Lorenzo had ordered a private physician to examine Giovanni that night.
She didn't know the physician would discover that the medication schedule contained a discrepancy.
And she certainly didn't know that when Lorenzo returned to his father's room after midnight, he would find Giovanni staring at an old photograph of the family.
Lorenzo picked it up.
The photograph showed Giovanni, a young Lorenzo, and a third man standing beside them.
His uncle, Vincent Moretti.
Vincent had supposedly died in a boating accident four years earlier.
Lorenzo looked at the photograph again.
Someone had drawn a thin red circle around Vincent's face.
May you like
On the back, in handwriting he hadn't seen since childhood, were six words.
THE MAN WHO POISONED YOUR FATHER LIVES.
