Chapter 4 - The Death That Wasn’t an Accident
Alessandro did not move.
The phone remained against his ear long after the line disconnected.
His father wasn’t the first Ferraro I ordered killed.
Only one death mattered enough for Victor to use that sentence.
Alessandro lowered the phone.
“My mother.”
Dominic’s face went pale.
“Alessandro—”
“My mother died of cancer.”
No one answered.
He looked at Sofia.
She had been beside Isabella through chemotherapy.
Through surgeries.
Through months of pain.
Sofia shook her head immediately.
“She was sick. I saw the scans. The doctors—”
“The doctors can be bought.”
Bianca stepped toward him.
“Victor might be trying to manipulate you.”
“He knew we were here.”
“Exactly. He wants you angry.”
Alessandro stared at her.
“Your biological father just told me he ordered the death of another Ferraro.”
Bianca flinched.
He regretted the cruelty instantly.
But regret did not erase it.
She stepped back.
Marco interrupted.
“We need facts.”
Alessandro nodded.
“Call Isabella’s oncologist.”
Sofia looked confused.
“At four in the morning?”
“Wake him.”
Dr. Samuel Grant had treated Isabella Ferraro for two years.
He answered on the fifth ring.
Alessandro put the call on speaker.
“Dr. Grant. This is Alessandro Ferraro.”
A pause.
“Mr. Ferraro?”
“I need my mother’s complete medical file.”
“At this hour?”
“At this hour.”
“Those records are archived.”
“Then unarchive them.”
Grant hesitated.
“May I ask why?”
“No.”
A longer silence.
“I’m afraid I can’t release medical records without—”
“You released them to me after she died.”
“Yes, but—”
“So you’ll release them again.”
Grant sighed.
“Give me until morning.”
Alessandro looked at Marco.
“Where does Grant live?”
Marco checked.
“Westchester.”
Alessandro returned to the call.
“You have twenty minutes.”
“What?”
“Open your front door.”
He ended the call.
Bianca stared at him.
“You have people outside his house?”
“No.”
“Then why tell him that?”
“Because guilty people run before innocent people ask questions.”
Marco’s phone rang nine minutes later.
He listened.
Then looked at Alessandro.
“Grant just booked a car to JFK.”
Alessandro’s expression became blank.
“Cancel it.”
They left the storage facility.
Dominic stayed behind with Dario to guard the files.
Alessandro took Sofia and Bianca back toward Manhattan while Marco coordinated with another team.
At 4:43 a.m., they reached Alessandro’s penthouse.
He had not wanted to go there.
But he needed secure communications.
Bianca stood in the vast living room where wedding gifts were stacked against one wall.
Silver boxes.
Crystal.
Champagne.
Cards congratulating them on a future that no longer existed.
She stared at the gifts.
Alessandro watched her.
“You can stay in the guest room.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Neither am I.”
Sofia sat on the sofa wrapped in a blanket.
Alessandro poured her water.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
She looked at him carefully.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For your mother.”
“We don’t know anything yet.”
“I know.”
Sofia hesitated.
“She was afraid near the end.”
Alessandro stopped.
“Of dying?”
“No.”
“Of what?”
“She once asked me whether anyone had changed her medication.”
His gaze sharpened.
“When?”
“Maybe six weeks before she died.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“She made me promise not to.”
His voice hardened.
“Everyone keeps making promises to dead people and lying to the living.”
Sofia lowered her eyes.
He immediately regretted it.
“Continue.”
“She said one of her pills tasted different.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you tell Grant?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That chemotherapy changes taste.”
Maybe it did.
Maybe that explanation had been perfectly reasonable.
At the time.
A security monitor beeped.
Marco appeared on video from Westchester.
“We have Grant.”
Alessandro moved toward the screen.
Dr. Samuel Grant sat in his own study wearing pajama pants and a sweater.
He looked terrified.
Alessandro said, “Why were you running?”
Grant swallowed.
“I wasn’t.”
“Try again.”
“My daughter lives in London.”
“You booked a one-way flight to Switzerland.”
Grant closed his eyes.
Alessandro waited.
Finally the doctor whispered:
“I changed Isabella’s medication.”
Sofia covered her mouth.
Bianca turned away.
Alessandro’s voice remained eerily calm.
“To what?”
“A compound.”
“What compound?”
“It accelerated liver failure.”
Sofia began crying.
Alessandro heard her but did not turn.
“Who paid you?”
Grant shook his head.
“I never met him.”
“How much?”
“Two million.”
“Who?”
“I only had a contact.”
“Name.”
“Peter Vale.”
Marco looked up.
Alessandro frowned.
Peter Vale was a respectable name.
A Manhattan attorney.
Charity boards.
Museum donations.
Political fundraisers.
He had also been Alessandro’s family lawyer for eighteen years.
Grant continued.
“I swear I didn’t know who was behind it.”
“You murdered my mother.”
Grant started shaking.
“She was already terminal.”
Alessandro’s face changed.
Marco saw it.
“Boss.”
Alessandro inhaled slowly.
Then said, “Bring him to federal investigators.”
Grant stared.
“What?”
Marco looked surprised too.
Alessandro repeated:
“Federal investigators.”
Grant almost collapsed with relief.
Perhaps he thought prison was mercy.
He was right.
Alessandro shut off the connection.
Bianca stared at him.
“You’re giving him to the government?”
“Yes.”
“Your father would have killed him.”
Alessandro looked toward Isabella’s photograph on the mantel.
“I’m not my father.”
The words surprised him.
Maybe that was why his mother had kept the files.
Not because she wanted revenge.
Because she wanted him to become capable of refusing it.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Peter Vale.
“Alessandro.”
“You have ten seconds.”
Vale laughed softly.
“You always did sound like Matteo when you were angry.”
“Nine.”
“You’re chasing the wrong man.”
“Eight.”
“Victor didn’t order Isabella’s death.”
Alessandro stopped counting.
Vale continued.
“He wanted her alive.”
“Why?”
“Because she had something he needed.”
“What?”
“The original ledger.”
Alessandro looked toward Sofia.
“What ledger?”
“The one that can destroy everyone.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why call?”
“Because Victor thinks Bianca knows.”
Alessandro’s gaze moved to her.
Bianca shook her head.
Vale lowered his voice.
“And if you care whether she survives until sunrise, you’ll get her out of your penthouse.”
A red warning appeared on Alessandro’s security panel.
WINDOW SENSOR — EAST TERRACE.
Marco was still in Westchester.
Dario was in Queens.
Only two guards were downstairs.
Alessandro looked toward the dark terrace.
A shadow moved behind the glass.
May you like
Then the balcony door slowly opened from the outside.
And someone stepped into Alessandro’s home.
