Chapter 6 - THE MAN WHO TOOK TWO BULLETS
Dean did not come immediately.
That frightened Massimo more than anger would have.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Camille disappeared into the east wing.
Hale stopped answering calls.
Massimo ordered his personal guard captain, Anthony Moretti, to the bedroom.
Anthony had served Massimo’s father before him.
He was one of the few senior security men Dean had not hired.
Massimo looked at him.
“Who do you report to?”
Anthony frowned.
“You.”
“Practically.”
A pause.
“Dean coordinates shifts.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Anthony’s face changed.
Massimo continued.
“If Dean gives an order that conflicts with mine?”
“Yours wins.”
“Good.”
He handed Anthony a sealed envelope.
“If anything happens tonight, give this to Pietro Rinaldi.”
Anthony stared.
“Anything?”
“If I die.”
Anthony went still.
“Boss.”
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Do not open it.”
“I won’t.”
Massimo looked toward the hall.
“And move two men you trust to the staff apartments.”
“Why?”
“Carla and Nina may return.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow.
“They’re involved?”
“No.”
Massimo’s voice hardened.
“That is exactly why they need protection.”
At 10:40, Dean finally entered.
No whiskey.
No smile.
He closed the bedroom door.
Massimo sat near the window.
“Camille told you.”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations?”
Dean stared.
“How?”
“Rehabilitation.”
“Hale said there was no point.”
“Hale says many things.”
Dean looked toward Massimo’s feet.
“Stand.”
Massimo smiled.
“No.”
“I want to see.”
“You’ve seen me weak for six months. Use your imagination.”
Dean’s jaw tightened.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why does everyone keep asking that?”
“Because I’m your brother.”
Not by blood.
But for twelve years, the word had meant something.
Massimo looked at him.
“You took two bullets for me.”
Dean’s face softened.
“Yes.”
“Did they hurt?”
A strange question.
Dean frowned.
“What?”
“The bullets.”
“Of course.”
“Where did the first hit?”
“Shoulder.”
“Second?”
“Side.”
“Lucky.”
Dean stared.
“I almost died.”
“No.”
Massimo shook his head.
“I almost died.”
Silence.
The room changed.
Dean looked toward the door.
Massimo continued:
“You knew where the gunfire would come from.”
Dean’s face became still.
Massimo watched.
There.
Not outrage.
Calculation.
Dean said:
“You’re sick.”
“Maybe.”
“The medication—”
“Which one?”
Dean stopped.
Massimo leaned forward.
“The white pill?”
Dean’s face changed.
Tiny.
Enough.
Massimo smiled.
“Thank you.”
Dean’s voice dropped.
“Who have you been talking to?”
“Interesting question.”
“Massimo.”
“Who arranged Brooklyn Avenue?”
Dean stepped closer.
“You think I did?”
“Yes.”
There.
Simple.
No more performance.
Dean stared.
Then laughed.
Not convincingly.
“You owe me your life.”
Massimo felt rage rise.
He let it.
“No.”
Dean’s smile vanished.
“I pulled you down when the shooting started.”
“Because you knew when.”
“I covered you.”
“Because the shooters knew where not to fire.”
Dean took another step.
Massimo pressed a button on the wheelchair.
Not alarm.
Recorder.
Already running.
Dean did not know.
“You have lost your mind.”
“Maybe.”
“Camille is worried.”
“Camille is sleeping with you.”
Dean froze.
Massimo continued.
“Marina office. Seven days before the ambush.”
Dean’s face emptied.
Proof.
He knew.
Massimo felt something inside himself settle.
Not relief.
Grief ending.
“You found the locker.”
“Yes.”
Dean looked down.
“The key.”
“Nina.”
He closed his eyes.
“That child.”
“Careful.”
Dean looked at Massimo.
For the first time, hatred showed.
Not for Massimo.
For a three-year-old who noticed what adults missed.
Massimo’s voice went cold.
“If you ever speak about her that way again, everything else becomes irrelevant.”
Dean laughed.
“There he is.”
“What?”
“The old Massimo.”
Massimo stared.
Dean walked to the window.
“You were going to destroy us.”
“Who is us?”
“The family.”
“I am the family.”
“That’s the problem.”
Dean turned.
“You were reckless. Port fights. Bellandi retaliation. Federal attention. Your father built something stable and you kept pushing.”
Massimo listened.
Dean had rehearsed this.
“You wanted control.”
“I wanted survival.”
“By shooting me.”
“By removing you from command.”
Massimo’s hands tightened.
“You told them not to kill me.”
“Yes.”
The confession came quietly.
Massimo almost missed it.
Dean continued.
“I chose the shooters. I gave the route. I made sure the angle hit low.”
“You could not control that.”
“No.”
Dean’s face twisted.
“That was the risk.”
Massimo stared.
“And the bullets you took?”
“One real.”
He touched his shoulder.
“One fragment.”
Massimo’s stomach turned.
“You arranged your own wound.”
“I needed everyone to believe me.”
“You needed me to believe.”
“Yes.”
Massimo breathed slowly.
“Hale?”
“Paid.”
“Camille?”
Dean smiled sadly.
“She was mine before she was yours.”
The sentence should have hurt.
It did not.
Not anymore.
“She agreed to marry me.”
“To stabilize transfer.”
“Trust clause.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed.
“You read it.”
“Yes.”
Dean laughed.
“So what now?”
Massimo looked at him.
“Now you leave.”
Dean shook his head.
“You still think this is your house.”
“It is.”
“Half the guards answer to me.”
“Not tonight.”
Dean’s expression changed.
Massimo pressed another button.
Bedroom door opened.
Anthony entered.
Behind him, two older Rinaldi men.
Dean looked at them.
Then at Massimo.
“You planned this.”
“Yes.”
Anthony held out his hand.
“Weapon.”
Dean laughed.
“You’re going to arrest me?”
“No.”
Massimo looked at him.
“I’m going to let the outside world do something our family should have learned decades ago.”
Dean’s face changed.
“You called police?”
“Not yet.”
“Massimo.”
“I copied the evidence.”
“Where?”
“Places you can’t reach.”
Dean’s calm finally broke.
“You idiot.”
“There.”
Massimo smiled.
“That sounds familiar.”
Dean stepped toward him.
Anthony moved.
Dean stopped.
“You expose this, you expose yourself.”
“Yes.”
The room went quiet.
Dean stared.
Massimo continued.
“You think I don’t know what the Rinaldi name means?”
Federal crimes.
Bribery.
Violence.
Money laundering.
The empire was not innocent simply because Dean betrayed it.
Massimo looked toward his wheelchair.
“For six months, I believed losing my legs was the worst thing that could happen.”
He looked at Dean.
“It wasn’t.”
“What was?”
“Learning what I built required men like you.”
Dean laughed bitterly.
“You built nothing alone.”
“No.”
Massimo nodded.
“That is the point.”
Dean shook his head.
“You’ll burn the family down.”
“Maybe.”
“And for what?”
Massimo thought of Nina’s basin.
Carla’s rough hands.
Sophie—no, wrong family; he caught the name in his own mind? No. He thought of Nina.
“For the chance that what comes after isn’t this.”
Dean stared.
Then smiled.
“You think the child saved you.”
“She noticed a pill.”
“That’s all.”
“No.”
Massimo’s eyes hardened.
“She noticed because none of you considered her worth noticing back.”
Anthony took Dean’s gun.
Then escorted him out.
Massimo watched his oldest friend disappear down the hallway.
His chest hurt more than his legs.
Five minutes later, Camille ran in.
“Where is Dean?”
Massimo looked at her.
She knew immediately.
Her face collapsed.
“Massimo.”
He raised one hand.
“Save it.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
“Hale said you’d never recover.”
“Hale knew better.”
Camille covered her mouth.
“I didn’t know about the pills.”
Massimo studied her.
Maybe true.
Maybe not.
“I knew about the ambush,” she whispered.
There it was.
“But not the medication?”
“No.”
She cried.
“Dean said you’d survive. He said you’d retire. We would move operations away from you.”
“You agreed.”
“Yes.”
“Why marry me?”
Camille’s face twisted.
“Because if I didn’t, Dean said the family would choose another alliance.”
Massimo almost laughed.
“Now you’re the victim.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I’m telling you what I told myself.”
That answer stopped him.
Camille continued:
“I loved Dean. I hated you.”
Massimo nodded.
“At least that part is clean.”
She looked toward the door.
“What happens?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You always know.”
“Not anymore.”
For several minutes after Camille left, Massimo remained alone.
Not truly alone.
Anthony waited in the hall.
Federal evidence copies existed.
Pietro had the locker files.
Still, the bedroom felt empty in a way the old mansion never had.
Massimo looked at his legs.
Then tried to stand.
No therapist.
No bars.
Only the bed rail.
Bad idea.
He knew it before he pushed.
His right leg took some weight.
The left trembled.
Pain flashed.
He nearly fell.
Anthony entered immediately.
“Boss.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are halfway to the floor.”
“Technical detail.”
Anthony helped him back.
Massimo hated the help.
Then hated himself for hating it.
Dependency was not humiliation.
Dean had taught him to treat it like one because shame made control easier.
Massimo sat.
Anthony looked at him.
“You don’t have to prove you can stand tonight.”
Massimo stared.
“Since when are you wise?”
“My wife says things.”
“Keep her.”
“I plan to.”
The answer hurt.
Ordinary loyalty.
No blood oath.
No bullets.
Just intention.
Massimo looked toward the door Carla and Nina usually entered.
“They’re safe?”
“Last check, yes.”
“Check again.”
Anthony started to leave.
“Anthony.”
He turned.
“Thank you.”
The guard looked surprised.
Then nodded.
“Anytime.”
Massimo watched him go.
That word used to mean service.
Now it sounded like choice.
Then Anthony returned.
His face was wrong.
Massimo saw it instantly.
“What?”
“Dean never reached the holding room.”
Massimo’s pulse rose.
“How?”
“Two guards turned on us.”
“Where is he?”
Anthony swallowed.
“Gone.”
Massimo looked toward the window.
Outside, headlights moved beyond the hedges.
Then his phone rang.
Carla.
He answered immediately.
Her voice was panicked.
“Mr. Rinaldi.”
“What?”
“Nina’s gone.”
Everything inside him stopped.
Carla was crying.
“I turned around for one minute. Pietro was outside. The back door was open.”
Massimo’s hand crushed the phone.
Then a message arrived from Dean.
One photograph.
Nina asleep in the back seat of a car.
Basin beside her.
May you like
Under it:
TRADE THE EVIDENCE FOR THE LITTLE DOCTOR.
