Chapter 5 - THE BROTHER AT THE GATE
Gabe arrived at sunrise in the back of a black SUV with dried blood in his hair and two fingers splinted together.
Wren was waiting on the front steps.
She had not slept.
Neither had Enzo.
The sky over the estate was the color of dirty steel, and mist sat low over the lawn. Two security men opened the SUV doors. Gabe climbed out slowly, one arm wrapped around his ribs.
For half a second, Wren saw him at fourteen again.
Too skinny.
Too scared.
Pretending neither was true.
Then anger came back.
She crossed the gravel before he could say her name and slapped him.
The sound cracked through the morning.
Gabe blinked.
Wren’s hand stung.
One of the guards looked away.
“Okay,” Gabe said softly. “I deserved that.”
She hit him again.
Not hard this time.
A fist against his chest.
Then another.
“You idiot.”
“I know.”
“You absolute, unbelievable idiot.”
“I know.”
“You could have died.”
“I know.”
Her next punch collapsed into a grip on his jacket.
Gabe folded around her.
Wren held him so hard he made a sound from his bruised ribs.
She did not let go.
For months, she had been furious with him for borrowing money, disappearing for days, calling only when something was wrong. She had told herself there had to be a limit to how many times one person could save another.
Then she had heard a stranger answer Gabe’s phone.
Limits became very philosophical when the person you loved might be dead.
“You smell terrible,” she said into his shoulder.
“So do you.”
She pulled back.
“I will slap you a third time.”
“I take it back.”
From the top of the steps came the low sound of wheels on stone.
Enzo had come outside.
Luca walked beside him, not pushing, just close enough to catch the chair if the wet stone betrayed it.
Gabe saw him.
Everything in his body tightened.
Wren noticed.
So did Enzo.
“You recognize me,” Enzo said.
Gabe swallowed.
“Everybody recognizes you.”
“That was not my question.”
Wren moved half a step in front of her brother.
Enzo’s eyes flicked to her.
Something passed between them.
A boundary.
He stopped six feet away.
“Inside,” he said.
Gabe shook his head.
“No.”
Luca’s expression hardened.
Wren turned.
“Gabe.”
“I’m not going in there.”
“Why?”
“Because that man’s uncle tried to have me killed.”
The guards reacted.
Enzo didn’t.
Wren went very still.
“Tell us exactly what happened.”
Gabe looked at the gates behind him as if calculating the distance.
“Not here.”
Ten minutes later, they were in a breakfast room Wren had not known existed.
Of course it existed.
The house seemed to produce rooms every time she turned around.
Coffee arrived.
So did eggs, toast, fruit, and enough bacon to feed a football team.
Gabe stared at the table.
“Am I allowed to eat?”
Wren shoved a plate at him.
“If you faint after everything I went through last night, I will revive you just to kill you myself.”
He picked up toast.
Enzo watched him from the far end.
“Start with Matteo.”
Gabe stopped chewing.
Wren sat beside him.
“You’re safe.”
Gabe looked at Enzo.
“No one is safe around these people.”
Wren could not entirely argue.
Enzo spoke quietly.
“You walked into my home after accusing my uncle of conspiring with the man who shot me. If I wanted you dead, breakfast would be an inefficient way to begin.”
Gabe stared.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
Wren rubbed her forehead.
“Please do not terrorize my brother before eight in the morning.”
Enzo looked almost offended.
“I offered him bacon.”
“That is not emotional regulation.”
Gabe glanced between them.
“This is weird.”
“Tell the story,” Wren said.
He exhaled.
“About six months ago, I started playing cards at a place in Cicero.”
Wren closed her eyes.
“Gabe.”
“I know.”
“You always know after.”
“I said I know.”
Enzo cut in. “Which place?”
“The Lantern.”
Luca swore under his breath.
Wren looked at him.
“What?”
“Russo’s.”
“Of course it was.”
Gabe continued. “I lost money. Then they offered me credit. Then I lost that too.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Thousand?”
Gabe looked at his plate.
Wren pressed both palms over her face.
“I thought I could win it back.”
“That sentence should be printed on bankruptcy forms.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Wren.”
“No. You called me for rent money while owing criminals twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Forty-eight,” Enzo corrected.
She turned.
“Not helping.”
He lifted one hand.
Gabe looked almost grateful for the interruption.
“Then a guy named Benny said I could clear part of it by making deliveries.”
“What kind?”
“Cash. Phones. Envelopes. I didn’t ask.”
Wren laughed without humor.
“You didn’t ask.”
“I was scared.”
That shut her up.
Gabe rubbed his splinted fingers.
“Three weeks ago, Benny told me there was one delivery that could wipe everything. I had to get a drive from a man near the river and take it to St. Agnes.”
Enzo leaned forward.
“To who?”
“I didn’t know at first.”
“But you know now.”
Gabe nodded.
“Matteo.”
Silence.
“He met me in the underground garage,” Gabe said. “No guards. No driver. He looked at the drive, then gave me an envelope and said I had to get it to another location the next day.”
“The diner,” Wren said.
“Yeah.”
“You made me carry it.”
“I was being followed.”
“So you used me instead.”
His eyes filled with shame.
“Yes.”
Wren looked away.
There were betrayals done from cruelty.
Then there were betrayals done by frightened people who loved you and were too weak to choose better.
The second kind hurt differently.
“What was in the envelope?” Enzo asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You opened it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Gabe gave a hollow laugh.
“Because when a man like Matteo Marchetti tells you not to open an envelope, curiosity becomes less important.”
Luca looked at Enzo.
“Smartest thing he’s said.”
Gabe glared.
Wren held up a hand.
“Continue.”
“The next day, Benny called. He said the delivery was compromised and I owed everything again. Then two guys grabbed me near my apartment.”
“The men who hurt you?”
“One of them.”
“Who were they working for?”
“I thought Russo.”
“You thought?”
Gabe looked at Enzo.
“One of them got a call. He put it on speaker because he was driving.”
“And?”
“I heard Matteo.”
Wren’s stomach tightened.
“What did he say?”
Gabe swallowed.
“He said, ‘The nurse knows too much.’”
The room went silent.
Wren felt cold all the way to her hands.
“What nurse?”
“I assumed you.”
“I wasn’t here yet.”
“I know.”
Enzo’s face changed.
“The missing caregiver.”
Luca nodded slowly.
“Maria Santos.”
Wren looked between them.
“Who is Maria Santos?”
Enzo’s voice went flat.
“My second caregiver.”
“The one who disappeared?”
“Yes.”
Gabe stared at him.
“I heard them say Maria too.”
Wren’s pulse sped up.
“What exactly?”
“‘Maria copied the wrong file.’ Then Matteo said to find out who she gave it to.”
“The ledger,” Luca said.
“Maybe.”
Enzo’s jaw tightened.
“Maria didn’t disappear because she knew about my care. She disappeared because she found something else.”
Wren looked at Gabe.
“Where were they taking you last night?”
“I don’t know. They had me in a car. We stopped under the viaduct. One guy got out to make a call. The other was watching the road.”
“And you escaped?”
Gabe looked embarrassed.
“He got out to smoke.”
Wren blinked.
“That’s it?”
“I kicked the door open.”
“With two broken fingers?”
“They weren’t broken yet.”
Luca stared at him.
“You broke your fingers escaping?”
“I fell over a guardrail.”
Wren looked at the ceiling.
“Of course you did.”
“But I heard one thing before I ran.”
“What?”
Gabe looked at Enzo.
“They said Matteo needed until Friday.”
“Until Friday for what?”
“I don’t know.”
Enzo turned to Luca.
“What’s Friday?”
“The Bellandi vote.”
Wren frowned.
“What is a Bellandi vote?”
No one answered.
She pointed at the table.
“We are past pretending I don’t know you’re criminals.”
Enzo gave her a tired look.
“It is a council meeting.”
“A mafia council?”
Luca coughed.
“Wren.”
“What? I’m trying to follow.”
Enzo ignored the label.
“Several families control different businesses and territories. Friday’s meeting determines who takes over certain operations while I’m considered… limited.”
The last word came out like broken glass.
“Who benefits if you stay in the wheelchair?”
Enzo and Luca answered together.
“Matteo.”
Wren sat back.
There it was.
Money.
Power.
Access.
Nothing supernatural.
Nothing complicated.
The oldest reasons in the world.
But something still bothered her.
“If Matteo wanted Enzo dead, he had eight months.”
Enzo looked at her.
“Exactly.”
“Why keep him alive?”
Luca’s eyes narrowed.
“Legitimacy.”
Wren waited.
Enzo explained.
“My father built alliances Matteo cannot inherit if I die under suspicious circumstances. But if I remain alive and unable to lead…”
“He becomes the helpful uncle managing things for you.”
“Yes.”
“And people accept it.”
“For a while.”
“Until Friday.”
Enzo nodded.
Wren looked at the splinted fingers on her brother’s hand.
“Then the medication wasn’t about killing him.”
“No,” she said slowly, thinking out loud. “It was about keeping him weak.”
Enzo’s face became unreadable.
Gabe stopped eating.
The truth sat among the breakfast plates.
Simple.
Ugly.
Possible.
Wren’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone looked at it.
She answered on speaker.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice spoke.
“Is this Wren Hart?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Dr. Naomi Pierce. I’m a spinal rehabilitation specialist. Mr. Marchetti’s office called me at five this morning.”
Wren looked at Enzo.
He shrugged.
“What can I do for you?” Wren asked.
“I reviewed the records that were sent.”
“And?”
“I need to examine him.”
“When?”
“Today.”
Enzo frowned.
“I have security concerns.”
Dr. Pierce did not sound impressed.
“I have medical concerns.”
Wren smiled.
“I like her.”
Enzo gave her a look.
Dr. Pierce continued.
“There are inconsistencies in the chart, particularly the medication history and early motor assessments. If the records are accurate, I want new imaging, nerve conduction studies, and bloodwork.”
Wren’s heart lifted.
Not hope.
Plan.
“What did you see in the early assessments?”
“A left ankle contraction graded one out of five. Later hip flexor activity. Both disappear from the chart without explanation.”
Enzo’s hand closed around the edge of the table.
“Can that happen?”
“Recovery can fluctuate. Documentation should not.”
Wren met his eyes.
Dr. Pierce added, “One more thing. The medication list includes doses high enough to interfere with alertness and participation in rehabilitation. I’m not saying that caused his lack of progress. I am saying I would never evaluate prognosis without accounting for it.”
Enzo said nothing.
Wren could see the sentence entering him.
Not a promise.
A possibility.
Sometimes possibility was more frightening than despair because it demanded something from you.
Dr. Pierce arranged to arrive at noon.
The call ended.
Gabe looked at Enzo.
“So you might walk?”
Wren answered before Enzo could.
“We don’t know.”
“But maybe.”
“We don’t know.”
“You say that a lot.”
“Because medicine is not a slot machine.”
Gabe picked up more toast.
Enzo stared at his untouched coffee.
“Wren.”
She looked at him.
“If the medication kept me from recovering…”
She knew the rest.
If someone had stolen eight months.
If paralysis had been made worse by betrayal.
If time that mattered had been wasted.
She lowered her voice.
“We still deal with the body you have now.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know.”
He looked angry.
Not at her.
At the question.
At himself for asking it.
Wren moved her chair closer.
“You want me to tell you there’s a chance.”
“Yes.”
“And if I say yes, you’ll hear a promise.”
“No.”
“Yes, you will.”
His eyes hardened.
“I can handle the truth.”
“Then here it is. Incomplete spinal cord injuries can leave pathways intact. Muscles can sometimes regain function. Sometimes they don’t. Eight months matters. So does the fact that you’ve been under-rehabilitated. We need tests.”
“That sounds like a chance.”
“It sounds like uncertainty.”
“To me, that is a chance.”
Wren had no answer.
At noon, Dr. Pierce arrived wearing sneakers, no makeup, and an expression that suggested she had no interest in anyone’s last name.
Wren liked her immediately.
For two hours, she examined Enzo in the downstairs library.
Reflexes.
Sensation.
Tone.
Strength.
Responses to touch.
At one point, Dr. Pierce pressed against the bottom of Enzo’s left foot.
His toes moved.
Enzo stared.
“So?” he demanded.
“Could be reflex.”
Wren saw his face fall.
Dr. Pierce moved his leg again.
“Try to pull your toes toward you.”
Nothing.
“Again.”
Nothing.
Enzo’s jaw clenched.
“Again.”
A tremor.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
Wren leaned closer.
“Did you see that?”
Dr. Pierce didn’t answer.
“Again, Enzo.”
He tried.
A tendon jumped along his ankle.
This time there was no question.
His foot moved.
Less than half an inch.
Enzo stopped breathing.
Wren did too.
Dr. Pierce sat back.
“That was voluntary.”
The room changed.
Luca, standing at the door, looked like someone had punched him.
Gabe whispered, “Holy hell.”
Enzo stared at his own foot.
“Do it again,” he said.
“You may not be able to.”
“Do it again.”
Dr. Pierce nodded.
He tried.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Rage rose in his face.
Wren crouched beside him.
“Stop.”
“No.”
“You’re tired.”
“I did it once.”
“And you’ll work again later.”
“What if I can’t?”
There it was.
Fear.
Raw and undisguised.
Wren looked directly at him.
“Then we try tomorrow.”
His eyes met hers.
“And if tomorrow fails?”
“Then the day after.”
“And after that?”
“The day after that.”
He swallowed.
“How long?”
“As long as it takes to know what’s real.”
Something in his face broke open.
Not weakness.
Not relief.
Permission.
For eight months, he had been mourning a body everyone told him was gone.
Now one muscle had moved half an inch and made grief complicated.
Dr. Pierce ordered transport to a private imaging center that evening.
Security would go ahead.
Luca would drive.
Everything was arranged.
Then one of the guards entered the library.
His face was pale.
“Boss.”
Enzo looked up.
“What?”
“There’s a package at the gate.”
“From who?”
“No courier. It was left on the road.”
Luca’s hand went to his jacket.
“What kind of package?”
The guard looked at Wren.
“A medical cooler.”
Her stomach dropped.
Ten minutes later, they opened it in the security room.
Inside was a clear specimen tube.
A flash drive.
And a folded note.
Wren read the note first.
SHE KEPT A COPY.
Enzo inserted the drive into an isolated laptop.
One folder appeared.
MARIA.
Inside were dozens of scanned pages.
Invoices.
Medication orders.
Messages.
Payments.
And one audio file.
Luca clicked it.
A woman whispered through static.
“If you’re hearing this, I didn’t make it out.”
Wren’s skin went cold.
Maria Santos.
The missing caregiver.
Her voice shook, but she kept speaking.
“Mr. Marchetti is not getting the medication Dr. Pierce recommended after his first rehabilitation consult. Dr. Hale changed the chart. Matteo knows. I heard them arguing.”
Enzo’s face lost color.
The recording continued.
“They’re keeping him sedated. I don’t know why. I copied the payment records. Hale is being paid through a company connected to Vincent Russo.”
Luca cursed.
Then Maria said something none of them expected.
“But Matteo isn’t the one giving the orders.”
Everyone froze.
Wren looked at Enzo.
The recording crackled.
“There is someone else. A woman. I never saw her face. Hale called her ‘Mrs. V.’”
Enzo’s eyes widened.
Luca whispered one word.
“No.”
Wren looked between them.
“Who is Mrs. V?”
Enzo did not answer.
The audio continued for three more seconds.
Then Maria’s frightened voice said,
“She knows Enzo better than anyone.”
The file ended.
Wren stared at him.
“Who?”
Enzo looked toward the rain-dark windows.
May you like
When he finally spoke, his voice was empty.
“My wife.”
