Chapter 3 - THE DOCTOR WHO SAID ALESSANDRO WOULD NEVER WALK HAD BEEN DRUGGING HIM FOR YEARS—BUT WHEN CAMILLE REFUSED TO HIDE, SHE DISCOVERED THE BOMB THAT PUT HIM IN THE WHEELCHAIR HAD NEVER BEEN MEANT TO KILL HIM
Alessandro wanted Camille moved into a secure property.
She refused.
He offered guards.
She accepted one.
Progress.
"You understand someone threatened your life?"
"Yes."
"And one guard seems adequate?"
"No."
"Then why—"
"Because six armed men following me into the grocery store isn't a life."
Alessandro stopped.
They were inside the rehabilitation center.
He had completed his first serious session.
He looked exhausted.
Sweat darkened his shirt.
His right leg trembled.
Camille had never seen him so physically vulnerable.
He hated it.
She could tell.
"Two guards," he said.
"One."
"Two."
"One outside, one in a car."
"That's two."
"Fine."
He smiled.
"Negotiation."
"Don't enjoy it."
"Too late."
Dr. Chen gradually changed Alessandro's medications.
The first week was brutal.
Spasms increased.
Pain sharpened.
He slept badly.
Twice he canceled therapy.
The third time, Camille found him sitting alone in the rehabilitation gym.
"You quitting?"
"No."
"Good."
"I postponed."
"Three times."
His eyes narrowed.
"Why are you here?"
"Delphine's statement."
"I already have it."
"I know."
"Then?"
Camille held up coffee.
"I brought this."
Alessandro looked suspicious.
"Why?"
"People sometimes bring other people coffee."
"In my experience, they usually want something."
"That's sad."
"Accurate."
She placed the cup down.
"Drink."
He did.
Then asked:
"Did your father ever quit therapy?"
"Constantly."
Alessandro looked surprised.
"He'd swear he was done. Then the next morning he'd complain the therapist was late."
"Why?"
"Because quitting and being tired aren't the same thing."
Alessandro looked at his leg.
Camille sat.
"You don't owe anyone walking."
His eyes lifted.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"Everyone suddenly thinks walking is the goal."
"Is it?"
He didn't answer.
Camille continued.
"If you want to walk, work toward it. If you don't, don't. Your value doesn't increase because your legs do more."
Alessandro stared at her.
"Then why am I doing this?"
"Because somebody stole the choice."
That landed.
"You deserve to find out what your body can do without Sebastian deciding first."
Silence.
Then Alessandro reached for the parallel bars.
"Help me transfer?"
Camille smiled.
"Ask your therapist."
He laughed.
"Heartless."
"Respectful."
The criminal investigation moved faster.
Sebastian's financial records connected him directly to Vittorio.
Payments.
Offshore accounts.
Medical consulting companies.
One transaction dated four days before Alessandro's bombing.
Two million dollars.
Purpose:
SPECIALIZED MOBILITY CARE.
Nico stared.
"They paid Sebastian before you were injured."
Alessandro became still.
"Then the bomb was planned with the medical aftermath already arranged."
Camille looked at the photographs.
"What kind of bomb?"
Nico answered.
"Directional charge beneath the rear floor."
"Wouldn't that kill him?"
"It should have."
"But it didn't."
Nico hesitated.
"Maybe it wasn't supposed to."
Alessandro looked up.
"What?"
Camille understood first.
"If Vittorio wanted you dead, he didn't need Sebastian."
Silence.
"He wanted you injured."
Nico swore.
The bomb had been positioned to cause severe lower-body trauma while giving Alessandro a reasonable chance of survival.
Risky.
Imprecise.
But deliberate.
Vittorio didn't need a funeral.
He needed a boss alive enough to remain a symbol and disabled enough to control.
Alessandro sat back.
Four years.
Four years of believing his body had betrayed him.
Four years of refusing help because everyone around him treated help as evidence of weakness.
Four years while the people closest to him profited from that isolation.
Camille saw his hands shake.
She said nothing.
Then Alessandro spoke.
"Leave."
Nico hesitated.
"Boss—"
"Everyone."
Camille stood.
"You too."
She nodded.
No argument.
She reached the door.
"Camille."
She stopped.
"Stay."
She turned.
He looked angry at himself.
"Please."
She closed the door.
Then waited.
Alessandro stared at his legs.
"I don't know what to do with this."
"You don't have to do anything tonight."
"I want to kill him."
"I know."
"You aren't shocked?"
"No."
"Does that frighten you?"
"Yes."
His eyes lifted.
"But being angry isn't the same as what you choose to do."
Alessandro looked away.
"I've killed men."
Camille became still.
"I assumed."
"I'm not a misunderstood businessman."
"I didn't assume that."
"I've ordered violence."
She listened.
"Some of it I could justify."
His voice lowered.
"Some of it I can't."
Camille understood what he was doing.
He was warning her.
Not seducing.
Not confessing for forgiveness.
Giving her information she deserved before whatever existed between them became more.
"Thank you for telling me."
"That's all?"
"No."
She stood.
"I'm going home."
His face changed.
"Because of what I said?"
"Partly."
He nodded.
Pain.
But acceptance.
Camille approached the door.
Then looked back.
"I don't know what I think about you yet."
"Fair."
"But I know what I think about Vittorio."
"What?"
"He doesn't get to decide who you become next."
Then she left.
Sebastian was found two days later.
Dead.
Apparent suicide.
Camille didn't believe it.
Neither did Alessandro.
Toxicology proved them right.
He had been sedated before his car went into Lake Michigan.
Vittorio was cleaning the board.
Delphine disappeared the same night.
Her apartment was empty.
Phone abandoned.
Camille received a message.
I'M SORRY.
No signature.
She knew.
Nico traced Delphine to an old Rossi warehouse.
Federal agents were notified.
Alessandro hated involving them.
Camille reminded him:
"You said you wanted to become something different."
"I said no such thing."
"You implied it dramatically."
He glared.
She smiled.
Agents entered the warehouse.
Delphine was found alive.
So was something else.
Records.
Hundreds.
Vittorio had been siphoning Rossi money for years.
But the most damaging files concerned Alessandro.
Medical reports describing him as cognitively unstable.
Legally dependent.
Unable to manage financial affairs.
All unsigned.
Drafts.
Camille stared.
"He was going to declare you incompetent."
Alessandro looked sick.
Nico nodded.
"Marriage would have helped."
Delphine understood.
"If I'd married Alessandro..."
Vittorio could have pressured her to support a guardianship petition.
The perfect wife.
Beautiful.
Acceptable.
Indebted.
Controllable.
Delphine sat across from Camille.
"I thought I was being chosen because I was finally good enough."
Camille looked at her cousin.
The cruelty between them suddenly appeared different.
Not excused.
Different.
Delphine had spent her entire life learning that beauty was currency.
Then men had offered her the largest transaction imaginable.
"What you said about me hurt."
Delphine cried.
"I know."
"Calling me something like an assistant."
"I know."
"Making me feel like standing beside you embarrassed you."
"I was jealous."
Camille frowned.
"Of me?"
"You walk into rooms expecting nothing."
"That's not a strength."
"Sometimes it is."
Delphine wiped her face.
"I've spent my whole life trying to be chosen."
Camille softened.
"You can choose yourself."
Delphine laughed bitterly.
"That sounds like something printed on a coffee mug."
"Probably."
They both laughed.
Then cried.
Not reconciliation.
Not yet.
But perhaps the beginning.
Vittorio fled Chicago.
Alessandro refused to chase him privately.
Instead he turned over records to federal authorities.
That decision fractured the Rossi organization.
Three captains left.
Two threatened revolt.
One called Alessandro weak.
Alessandro listened.
Then said:
"I spent four years letting people confuse my wheelchair with weakness. I'm done confusing violence with strength."
Nico later told Camille.
She didn't praise Alessandro.
He wasn't a child receiving a sticker for basic morality.
But she noticed.
Three months into rehabilitation, Alessandro stood unassisted for eleven seconds.
Camille wasn't there.
That mattered.
He did it for himself.
Dr. Chen called her afterward because Alessandro refused.
Camille arrived that evening carrying a cupcake.
"Congratulations."
He looked offended.
"One cupcake?"
"You're rich. Buy another."
"I stood."
"For eleven seconds."
"Twelve."
"Your therapist said eleven."
"She's against me."
Camille laughed.
Alessandro looked at her.
Then his expression softened.
"I missed you."
Her laughter stopped.
"Alessandro."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
"Then tell me."
Camille sat.
"You don't know whether you miss me or the person who saw you when everyone else looked away."
He absorbed that.
"Possible."
"And I don't know whether I care about you or I'm repeating what I did with my father."
His face changed.
"Taking care of someone."
"Yes."
They sat with the uncomfortable truth.
Finally Alessandro asked:
"What do we do?"
"Nothing."
He frowned.
"We live our lives."
"That's your plan?"
"Terrifying, isn't it?"
"Extremely."
"If we still want each other when you don't need me and I don't feel responsible for you..."
She smiled.
"Then ask me again."
"Ask you what?"
"You'll figure it out."
Six months later, Vittorio resurfaced.
Not in Chicago.
New York.
He contacted Alessandro directly.
One message.
COME ALONE OR DELPHINE'S FATHER DIES.
Camille found Alessandro preparing to go.
She stared at him.
"You can't be serious."
"It's my family problem."
"That sentence has caused enough trouble."
"I won't risk another person."
"So you plan to risk yourself."
"Yes."
"That's not noble. It's stupid."
His jaw tightened.
"Camille."
"No."
"You don't decide."
She stopped.
Then nodded.
"You're right."
Alessandro looked surprised.
"You decide."
She stepped back.
"But if you go alone, you're choosing the exact isolation Vittorio trained you into."
Silence.
Camille continued.
"He built his entire plan around the belief that you would rather suffer privately than let anyone stand beside you."
Alessandro stared.
"And you're about to prove him right."
He looked at the car.
Then his phone.
Finally:
"Nico."
Nico appeared.
"Boss?"
"Call the FBI."
Camille exhaled.
Alessandro looked at her.
"Don't look pleased."
"I'm extremely pleased."
"I may reconsider."
"Too late."
The meeting became a federal sting.
Vittorio was arrested.
Delphine's father was recovered alive.
No gunfight.
No execution.
No body dumped into a river.
For the old Alessandro Rossi, that might have felt unsatisfying.
For the new one, it felt strangely clean.
When Vittorio was placed in handcuffs, he looked at Alessandro's wheelchair.
"Look what you've become."
Alessandro smiled.
"Alive?"
"Weak."
"No."
Alessandro looked toward Camille standing behind the federal line.
"I was weak when I needed everyone to believe I wasn't."
Vittorio's smile disappeared.
Alessandro rolled closer.
"You taught me that."
Then he turned away.
He did not look back.
That evening Camille found him outside the rehabilitation center.
He stood between the parallel bars.
No therapist.
No audience.
She leaned against the doorway.
"Showing off?"
"Obviously."
He took one step.
Then another.
His right leg trembled violently.
He sat.
Camille did not rush forward.
Alessandro looked at her.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"Not catching me."
"You didn't fall."
"I might have."
"Then I would've asked if you wanted help."
He smiled.
"Camille."
"Yes?"
"Ask you again?"
Her heart began beating faster.
"You remembered."
"I remember everything you say. It's exhausting."
She laughed.
Then he asked:
"Would you have dinner with me?"
"As a date?"
"Yes."
"No family arrangement?"
"No."
"No debt?"
"No."
"No obligation?"
"None."
"No bodyguard sitting at the table?"
"Across the restaurant."
She considered.
"Fine."
Alessandro smiled.
"When?"
"Friday."
"Seven?"
"Eight."
"Why eight?"
"Because I have a life before you."
May you like
His smile widened.
"That's exactly why."
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