Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN THEY HAD ALREADY PRICED
Alina laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes the brain rejects terror by making the wrong sound.
“Me?”
Marco did not smile.
“Yes.”
“Why would anyone pay ransom for me when I was sitting in a hospital chair?”
He looked at me.
That annoyed her.
“Don’t look at him.”
Marco looked back.
“Because you found the forty million.”
“I reported it six months ago.”
“To your firm.”
“Yes.”
“Then Luca.”
“Yes.”
“Who else had access to your work?”
“My supervisor.”
“Name.”
“Daniel Ross.”
Marco’s face tightened.
“You know him?”
“No.”
Another lie?
Hard to tell.
Alina continued:
“My firm’s compliance director. outside counsel. maybe IT.”
“Did you keep copies?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She looked at me.
“Not your business.”
Under normal conditions, I would have admired that answer.
I did anyway.
Marco rubbed his face.
“My father’s message was short.”
“Show us.”
He took out his phone.
Encrypted archive.
One saved audio file.
Massimo Vitelli’s voice.
I remembered it.
Deep.
Always laughing before he spoke.
Now older.
Tired.
“Marco. If you get this, Greco found me.”
Alina looked at me.
I felt cold.
“Do not come.”
Of course.
Everyone in our world gives that instruction knowing it will be ignored.
“Watch Vanguard. Watch Northline. And if Carbone’s accountant is still alive, keep her that way.”
Alina’s face changed.
Massimo continued:
“The one hundred eighty is not for me. It’s the price on her.”
I looked at Marco.
“When?”
“Three weeks before attack.”
“You told no one.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“My father said Salvatore had somebody inside your inner circle.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t know.”
“So you decided silence.”
“Yes.”
I laughed without humor.
“Working beautifully.”
Marco took it.
Good.
Alina asked:
“Why would Salvatore want me dead before I found Northline?”
“You had already found the forty million.”
“That money was connected to Luca.”
Marco shook his head.
“Maybe you thought it was.”
She went still.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“The forty million was never Luca’s.”
I stared.
“Excuse me?”
Marco continued.
“It came through Carbone companies, but beneficial control sits in the Legacy Trust.”
“My father.”
“Salvatore as trustee.”
“Yes.”
Alina’s face changed.
The first mystery that brought us together had been wrong from the start.
She thought she discovered my hidden money.
I thought I got lucky that a stubborn forensic accountant came to me before prosecutors.
Actually, Salvatore’s system had surfaced.
“And I walked into Luca’s office with it.”
“Yes.”
Alina looked at me.
“You knew it wasn’t yours?”
“No.”
She studied my face.
“Believe me or don’t.”
“I believe you.”
Fast.
No drama.
That hit more than suspicion would have.
“Then Salvatore knew I found his money.”
“Yes.”
“Why not kill me then?”
Marco looked at me.
“Because Luca became interested.”
I frowned.
“In her?”
“Yes.”
Alina crossed her arms.
“I’m still here.”
Marco ignored her.
“If she disappeared right after meeting you, you would look.”
“Correct.”
“So he waited.”
“For?”
“Opportunity.”
Lower Wacker.
I got shot.
Empire unstable.
Hospital.
Alina vulnerable.
Maybe ransom payment represented hired extraction.
“Who received the one eighty?”
Alina flipped pages.
“Lakefront Recovery Services.”
Marco swore.
“What?”
“That’s not security.”
“What is it?”
“Private transport.”
“For what?”
“Medical transfers. high-risk witnesses. sometimes people who don’t want police.”
My skin went cold.
“They planned to move her.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Alina found another invoice.
“No destination.”
Marco said:
“Maybe because they never got her.”
I looked at Alina.
“Did anyone approach you?”
She thought.
“Day six.”
“What?”
“A nurse said you were being moved to another facility and I couldn’t come.”
“Name?”
“Don’t know.”
“What did you do?”
“I told her I worked for your legal team.”
I almost smiled.
“You don’t.”
“I know.”
“She left?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Marco showed up twenty minutes later.”
We both looked at him.
He frowned.
“What?”
“Coincidence.”
“Yes.”
I did not believe in those.
Marco leaned forward.
“I had just gotten alert from my father’s message archive.”
“What alert?”
“Dead-man check.”
Massimo had set one.
If he failed to confirm safety every seven days, Marco received the first layer.
Day six after attack.
Meaning Massimo missed check.
“Is your father alive now?”
Marco said nothing.
My chest tightened.
“Marco.”
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t spoken?”
“No.”
“How long?”
“Three weeks.”
Alina looked at him.
“Why aren’t you looking?”
“I am.”
“Quietly?”
“Yes.”
She laughed.
“Everybody in this city does terrible things quietly and calls it strategy.”
I liked her even more.
Marco said:
“If Salvatore has him, loud gets him killed.”
“Maybe,” she said.
“Maybe quiet already did.”
That landed.
I looked at Alina.
“You need protection.”
“No.”
I stared.
“I was not asking.”
“Then learn.”
The hospital room went very still.
Marco looked at the ceiling.
Smart.
Alina continued:
“Someone already tried to move me out of this hospital. If you put ten armed men around me, Salvatore knows exactly where I am.”
“He already does.”
“Then I choose where I sleep.”
“You are not going home.”
“My apartment?”
“No.”
“Your penthouse?”
“No.”
“Then?”
She crossed her arms.
“See problem?”
I hated when logic worked against me.
Marco said:
“Safe house.”
“No,” Alina and I said together.
We looked at each other.
“Why no?” I asked.
“Because his father disappeared into one.”
Marco looked offended.
“Witness protection is not my safe house.”
“Same philosophy.”
Fair.
I tried another route.
“Stay on hospital floor.”
“No.”
“You’ve been here eleven nights.”
“That was my choice.”
“And now?”
“I’m going to my hotel.”
“What hotel?”
She looked at me.
“Exactly.”
I laughed once despite pain.
“Fine.”
Marco stared.
“You’re letting her?”
Alina said:
“He doesn’t let me.”
Good.
I turned to Marco.
“Follow at distance.”
She looked at me.
“No.”
“What?”
“No surveillance without telling me.”
I stared.
“Fine. One car. You know which.”
She thought.
“Visible.”
“Yes.”
“No tracking my phone.”
“Fine.”
“No tracker in bag.”
I almost looked guilty before committing anything.
She caught it.
“Luca.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
Marco muttered:
“This injury is changing you.”
“Leave.”
He almost smiled.
Then the door opened.
Dr. Naomi Chen entered.
My rehabilitation specialist.
Thirty-eight.
No patience for men who thought authority altered anatomy.
She looked at Marco.
“Out.”
He blinked.
I smiled.
“Finally somebody else.”
Marco left.
Alina started to.
Dr. Chen said:
“She can stay if you want.”
I looked at Alina.
“Stay.”
She sat.
Dr. Chen reviewed scans.
No euphemisms.
The second bullet entered near L1, fractured vertebral structures, caused incomplete spinal cord injury.
Incomplete.
That word mattered.
“Meaning?”
“Not fully severed.”
“Will I walk?”
“I don’t know.”
“Percentage.”
“No.”
“Estimate.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you will turn a probability into an order.”
Alina smiled.
Traitor.
Dr. Chen continued.
“You have preserved sensation at some levels. Reflex activity. That is useful. It does not promise walking.”
“What do I do?”
“Rehabilitation.”
“How much?”
“Every day.”
“How long?”
“Months. years. maybe life.”
I hated all those words.
“What is first goal?”
“Sit unsupported.”
I stared.
“I ran five miles three months ago.”
“I know.”
“And now goal is sitting.”
“Yes.”
Something broke quietly inside me.
Not dramatic.
Just a crack.
Alina saw.
Dr. Chen did too.
Neither comforted me.
Good.
“Then we sit.”
Dr. Chen nodded.
“Tomorrow.”
“Today.”
“You were shot twice.”
“Today.”
She sighed.
“Five minutes.”
I won something.
Tiny.
Still.
When she left, Alina remained.
I stared at the blanket covering legs I could not feel.
“My father used to say weakness was a debt collector.”
Alina said:
“Your father sounds exhausting.”
I laughed.
Pain.
Worth it.
“He believed once people saw weakness, they charged interest.”
“Do you?”
“Usually.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Then maybe stop living among people who profit from it.”
That sentence stayed.
We practiced sitting that afternoon.
Two therapists.
Brace.
Pain.
Sweat.
Humiliation.
I lasted forty-three seconds unsupported.
Then fell sideways.
Alina caught my shoulder.
Not my body.
The therapist did that.
After, I lay back shaking.
Forty-three seconds.
Empire did not matter.
Forty-three seconds did.
That night, Alina prepared to leave.
I did not stop her.
Progress.
She put the Northline documents in her bag.
“Copies stay.”
“I have copies.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere you don’t control.”
“Good.”
She smiled.
Then her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She looked.
Her face changed.
“What?”
She showed me.
A photograph.
Taken through hospital glass.
Me in bed.
Alina beside me.
Time stamp ten minutes earlier.
Message below:
THE FIRST BULLETS WERE FOR LUCA.
THE NEXT ONE IS FOR YOU.
My hand tightened.
Another message arrived.
ASK MARCO WHAT HIS FATHER STOLE.
Alina looked at me.
Then a third.
IF YOU WANT TO LIVE, COME ALONE.
Address.
An abandoned church in Pilsen.
Midnight.
“No.”
I said it before she could.
She stared.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“We don’t go alone.”
“They said—”
“I can read.”
“And if they have Massimo?”
“Then we still don’t go alone.”
She looked at me.
“You can’t go anywhere.”
That hurt because it was true.
I looked at the wheelchair near the wall.
Not yet.
Hospital bed.
Monitors.
Lines.
Empire outside.
Me inside.
Helpless.
No.
Not exactly.
I picked up the phone and called Marco.
He answered.
“What?”
“Come back.”
“Why?”
“Your father stole something.”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“What?” I asked.
Marco’s voice changed.
“Who told you?”
There.
“Come back.”
“Luca—”
“Now.”
He arrived in six minutes.
I showed the message.
His face went white.
Alina said:
“What did Massimo steal?”
Marco sat.
For a moment, he looked like a son, not an underboss.
Then he answered.
“A list.”
“What list?”
“Every Carbone route informant Salvatore ever paid.”
My chest tightened.
“Inside the organization?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Current?”
“Some.”
“Names?”
“My father kept them hidden.”
“Why?”
“Because one of them was your father.”
The room stopped.
I stared.
“What?”
Marco swallowed.
“Antonio Carbone was selling information too.”
I laughed once.
“No.”
“Not to rivals.”
“Then to who?”
“Federal contacts.”
Alina leaned forward.
“My father was an informant?”
Marco nodded.
“Off-book. Selective. He traded information to protect bigger operations.”
Everything I inherited shifted.
My father built an empire on fear.
And bargains.
“Salvatore knew?”
“Yes.”
“Then why serve him?”
“Because he ran the mechanism.”
I stared.
Marco continued.
“Massimo stole the list because it proves Salvatore wasn’t consigliere.”
“What was he?”
Marco looked at me.
“Broker.”
“For?”
“Everyone.”
Rivals.
Police.
Politicians.
My father.
Maybe the ambush.
Alina whispered:
“He sold Luca’s route because he has always sold routes.”
Marco nodded.
“And if Massimo still has the list, Salvatore needs it back.”
I looked at the midnight address.
“Then he doesn’t want Alina.”
“No,” Marco said.
“He wants me.”
“Why send her?”
“Because he knows you cannot go.”
There it was.
My condition as leverage.
The first real use of my paralysis against me.
I looked at the wheelchair.
May you like
Then at Alina.
“Get me into that chair.”
