Chapter 4 - Enzo Testifies With One Finger
The emergency hearing took place by video.
Not because Enzo was too weak to matter.
Because he was too medically fragile to transport.
The judge appeared on a screen mounted opposite his hospital bed.
Lucia sat to Enzo’s left.
Sofia to his right.
A court-appointed neuropsychologist named Dr. Aaron Kim sat near the foot of the bed.
Dante appeared from a conference room with Gerard Bell and two corporate attorneys.
Mia was not in the hearing.
Good.
This was not her case.
She waited in the staff lounge drinking tea and trying not to read social media.
The hearing concerned one narrow question:
Could Enzo Romano understand and communicate decisions about his healthcare and corporate interests well enough to revoke Dante’s temporary authority?
Not whether he was fully recovered.
Not whether he could run an empire tomorrow.
Capacity is task-specific.
Lucia had explained that to Mia earlier.
Important.
Dante’s side argued Enzo was newly emerged, medically unstable, vulnerable to confusion, and unable to appreciate consequences.
Reasonable argument on paper.
Then Enzo answered questions.
Slowly.
The judge asked:
“Mr. Romano, do you understand why we are here?”
Enzo used the tablet.
YES. MY BROTHER WANTS TO KEEP AUTHORITY OVER MY MEDICAL AND COMPANY DECISIONS.
“Do you know the date?”
He typed it correctly.
“Do you know how long you were unconscious or minimally responsive?”
ABOUT TWO YEARS.
“What do you want regarding your medical care?”
DR MENDEZ. FULL TREATMENT. NO WITHDRAWAL WITHOUT MY CONSENT IF I CAN COMMUNICATE.
Dante’s attorney objected to wording.
The judge overruled.
“What do you want regarding Romano Maritime?”
NO TRANSFER OF MY SHARES OR VOTING RIGHTS.
“Do you understand you may not be physically capable of managing daily operations?”
YES.
“What do you propose?”
INDEPENDENT INTERIM BOARD. LUCIA HAS DOCUMENTS.
There.
Plan.
Not “give it all back to me.”
The judge looked impressed.
Dante less so.
Then Gerard Bell cross-examined gently.
“Enzo, do you hate your brother?”
Enzo stared.
Lucia objected.
The judge allowed limited answer.
Enzo typed:
YES.
The room went still.
Then he continued.
THAT DOES NOT MAKE MY ANSWERS CONFUSED.
There.
Mia heard about it later and laughed.
Gerard asked:
“Do you believe Dante poisoned you?”
YES.
“Were you conscious when the substance entered your drink?”
NO.
“So you did not see him do it.”
NO.
“Then your belief is based partly on what others have told you since waking.”
Enzo paused.
Then:
AND WHAT I HEARD HIM SAY WHILE HE THOUGHT I COULD NOT HEAR.
Dante’s face changed.
Gerard moved on.
The court-appointed neuropsychologist testified.
Enzo had significant physical impairment.
Fatigue.
Slowed processing.
Memory gaps.
Likely executive-function rehabilitation ahead.
But he consistently understood the decisions at issue.
He could express stable preferences.
He understood risks.
Capacity sufficient to revoke the prior temporary healthcare proxy and corporate guardianship for specified decisions.
Not full restoration of every function.
Enough.
The judge suspended Dante’s authority.
Blocked the docks transfer.
Appointed a neutral corporate custodian for thirty days pending board review.
Healthcare authority returned to Enzo with Lucia and Sofia helping document directives.
Dante lost without Enzo standing up.
Without shouting.
Without a gun.
One finger on a touchscreen had done enough.
Mia entered after the hearing.
Enzo looked exhausted.
She raised both hands.
“No victory speech.”
He typed:
COWARD.
“Yes.”
Sofia said:
“He needs rest.”
Mia sat.
“Then I will be boring.”
Enzo typed:
IMPOSSIBLE.
She smiled.
This was becoming dangerous in a way no federal agent could prevent.
Not because Enzo was mafia.
Because he was funny when he should have been terrifying.
Mia hated that.
Good.
Recovery came in ugly increments.
Speech therapy.
Swallow evaluation.
Physical therapy.
Occupational therapy.
Pain.
Contractures.
Weakness.
He could not simply sit up because the plot needed him to.
The first time therapists raised the bed fully, his blood pressure crashed.
Mia was not there.
Good.
She was working.
She still had shifts at a diner in Albany during the investigation because the catering company suspended her after media leaked her name.
Not fired officially.
“Administrative leave.”
No pay.
Same result.
A tabloid found her apartment.
Leo opened the door and told a reporter to go to hell.
Then called Mia.
“We need a better peephole.”
Federal witness services helped with temporary relocation after a photographer followed Leo to his transplant clinic.
Mia accepted.
Not Romano security.
Important.
She and Leo moved into a furnished apartment arranged through a witness-assistance program.
Elias—
No.
Enzo offered nothing.
At least not directly.
Good.
When Mia told him her catering job had disappeared, his face hardened.
He typed:
MY FAULT.
She shook her head.
“Dante’s fault. Reporters’ fault. Maybe capitalism’s fault.”
Enzo smiled.
Then typed:
I CAN HELP.
“No.”
He frowned.
“You do not get to hire me.”
He typed:
NOT HIRE.
“No money.”
His eyes narrowed.
Mia leaned closer.
“I heard a confession because I fell into your room. That does not create a financial relationship.”
Enzo studied her.
Then typed:
FAIR.
Good.
A week later, Lucia called Mia.
Not Enzo.
“There’s a witness compensation fund for lost wages related to federal cooperation.”
Mia laughed.
“Did Enzo tell you to call?”
“No.”
“Did he ask about options?”
Silence.
There.
“Lucia.”
“He asked whether lawful public mechanisms existed.”
Mia stared at the wall.
That was annoying.
Also respectful.
She applied.
Through federal program.
Not Romano money.
Good.
Meanwhile, the toxicology case strengthened.
Archived blood from the Pierre had degraded but still supported aconitine exposure.
Owen Mercer, the bartender, identified a small vial given by a Romano security contractor named Paul Vescari.
Paul was alive.
Living in Connecticut.
He denied knowledge.
Agents found messages with Dante.
One sent hours before the poisoning:
MAKE SURE HE MISSES THE VOTE.
Dante replied:
HE WILL.
Not murder language.
Motive language.
Another after Enzo collapsed:
TOO MUCH.
Dante:
THEN HANDLE THE HOSPITAL.
There.
The hospital.
That led toward Penhaligon.
Financial records showed a consulting company owned by Penhaligon received $1.4 million over two years from a Romano-affiliated healthcare foundation controlled by Dante.
Could be legitimate.
Invoices said neurological consulting.
But the amounts were high.
Investigators seized his personal accounts.
Penhaligon’s lawyer insisted sedation was medically justified.
Sofia reviewed charts.
Some doses had indications.
Some did not.
Important.
Not every medication was criminal.
But dozens of administrations lacked documented clinical reason.
Nurses had entered them under standing orders Penhaligon authored.
Two nurses told investigators they questioned the schedule.
They were told Enzo became dangerously agitated off medication.
Did he?
Video from room archives became crucial.
Security recordings existed for fall prevention.
On dates labeled “severe agitation,” Enzo often showed only eye opening, hand movement, or attempts to vocalize before sedation was administered.
Sofia watched one clip and left the room crying.
Mia did not see it.
Good.
Enzo did.
His choice.
Afterward he refused visitors for a day.
Mia respected it.
On the second day, he asked for her.
She came after work.
He had tears in his eyes when she entered.
No mafia dignity.
No performance.
He typed:
I WAS THERE.
Mia sat.
“I know.”
NO. I MEAN I WAS THERE INSIDE.
She understood.
He had spent years hearing pieces.
Feeling some things.
Unable to prove himself awake enough.
Then sedation whenever signs increased.
Mia’s throat tightened.
“What do you need?”
Not:
Who do you want killed.
Not:
How do we punish them.
Enzo looked at the tablet.
Then typed:
FOR YOU NOT TO LOOK AT ME LIKE I AM BURIED.
Mia stared at him.
“I don’t.”
He looked away.
She stood.
Walked closer.
“Enzo.”
He looked back.
“You’re annoying.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Bossy.”
He almost smiled.
“Possibly criminal.”
That got a real breath of laughter.
Mia continued.
“And currently unable to beat me in a footrace.”
He typed:
TEMPORARY.
“Very confident.”
His smile stayed.
Good.
She sat again.
No kiss.
Not even close.
The accidental one had already become ridiculous enough for tabloids.
THE KISS THAT WOKE THE KING.
Mia hated that headline most.
Enzo did too.
He typed:
I SHOULD SUE.
“For what?”
DEFAMATION. YOU ARE NOT THAT GOOD.
Mia stared.
Then threw a tissue box at him.
Softly.
Sofia entered at exactly that moment.
“What did I say about overstimulation?”
“He started it.”
Enzo pointed at Mia.
Sofia sighed.
“Children.”
But later that night, Agent Shah arrested Paul Vescari.
Two hours after that, Penhaligon surrendered through counsel.
Dante remained free pending charging decisions.
His lawyers argued the evidence showed only an effort to delay a corporate vote, not intent to kill.
Maybe.
The jury would someday decide.
Enzo looked at the news alert.
Then turned off the tablet.
Mia asked:
“You don’t want to read it?”
He shook his head.
“Why?”
His voice was slightly stronger now.
“Tomorrow.”
One word.
Then another.
“Therapy.”
Mia smiled.
Good.
He had spent two years trapped inside yesterday.
The fact that he cared about tomorrow was more important than any arrest.
The next morning brought a smaller victory.
Enzo swallowed three spoonfuls of thickened water under supervision.
Nothing cinematic.
No steak.
No champagne.
Three spoonfuls.
He looked more exhausted afterward than Dante had looked during the court hearing.
Sofia wrote the result on the whiteboard.
Mia arrived in time to see it.
“Congratulations.”
Enzo looked offended.
“For water?”
“Yes.”
He typed:
LOW STANDARDS.
“Two days ago you were communicating by blinking.”
He considered.
Then typed:
FAIR.
Mia sat near the window.
Snow had stopped.
Sunlight made the estate look almost harmless.
That annoyed her.
“Do you remember being hungry?”
Enzo’s expression changed.
He typed slowly.
SOMETIMES.
“Could you feel people touch you?”
SOMETIMES.
“Could you hear music?”
YES.
“What music?”
He frowned.
Then:
DANTE PLAYED SINATRA.
Mia almost laughed.
“That sounds like a crime by itself.”
Enzo smiled.
Then his face shifted.
HE TALKED TO ME.
“Dante?”
YES.
“Why?”
His hand trembled over the tablet.
BECAUSE HE THOUGHT I WAS GONE.
Mia did not ask for details.
Not now.
Good.
Instead she said:
“You’re here.”
Enzo looked at her.
Not buried.
May you like
Here.
That was enough for the morning.
