Chapter 3
Dr. Soren’s test results arrived at dawn.
I had not slept.
Neither had Dean.
He remained in my library all night, calm as a man waiting for weather to pass.
That calm insulted me.
The old Dean would have raged on my behalf.
He would have demanded Hale’s confession.
He would have hunted whoever paid him.
This Dean only watched.
When Soren entered with a folder in his hand, Dean stood.
I did not.
I could not.
That fact filled the room like smoke.
Soren placed the folder on my desk.
“You have traces of the compound in your system,” he said. “Not from one dose. Repeated exposure.”
Camille gasped.
I ignored her.
“For how long?” I asked.
“Months.”
My throat tightened.
“Since the ambush?”
“Likely.”
Dean said, “That’s speculation.”
Soren looked at him.
“It is medical probability.”
Dean’s face hardened.
I opened the folder.
Bloodwork.
Toxicology notes.
Words I understood only because they were attached to betrayal.
“Could my legs recover?” I asked.
Soren paused.
For six months, every doctor had answered too quickly.
Never.
No chance.
Permanent.
Soren did not.
That pause nearly broke me.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But if your injury was worsened by chemical suppression, then the original prognosis may be wrong.”
The air left my lungs.
Wrong.
The word was small.
It was also a door.
Dean stepped closer.
“Massimo, hope can be dangerous.”
I looked up.
“So can trust.”
His expression did not change.
But his eyes did.
I saw it then.
A flicker of hatred.
Old.
Hidden.
Patient.
“Bring Hale,” I said.
The guards dragged Dr. Hale in fifteen minutes later.
His collar was wrinkled.
His eyes were red.
Fear had aged him overnight.
I had seen men beg before.
Most begged badly.
Hale begged before anyone touched him.
“I didn’t know at first,” he said. “I swear. I thought it was pain management.”
“Who gave it to you?”
He looked at Dean.
Dean smiled faintly.
The smile was so small most men would have missed it.
Hale saw it and began to shake.
“Who?” I repeated.
“Dean.”
Camille made a sound.
Dean sighed, as if disappointed by poor service.
“That’s absurd.”
Hale turned desperate.
“You said it would keep him stable. You said if he regained strength too quickly, the Bellandis would attack again. You said it was for his safety.”
My hands gripped the chair.
Dean’s voice stayed calm.
“He’s lying to save himself.”
Hale shook his head.
“You paid me through the clinic foundation. I have records.”
Now Dean moved.
Only one step.
The guards moved too.
He stopped.
I stared at the man I had called brother.
“Why?”
Dean looked at me for a long time.
Then he laughed softly.
“Because even in a chair, you still asked the wrong question.”
I said nothing.
He walked to the window.
My guards watched him.
His guards watched mine.
That was the moment I realized how much of my house had become his.
“You think this is about your legs?” Dean asked. “This is about twelve years of standing behind you while men bowed to your name. Twelve years of fixing your mistakes. Carrying your family. Cleaning blood from carpets while you were called brilliant.”
I felt no shock.
Only a cold sadness.
“You wanted the chair.”
“I wanted the empire.”
“And the ambush?”
He turned.
There was no denial in his face now.
“Necessary.”
Camille whispered, “Dean, stop.”
My eyes moved to her.
Her mistake was tiny.
But enough.
“Camille.”
She went still.
“How long?”
Tears appeared instantly.
“No.”
“How long?”
She looked at Dean.
Then at me.
“I didn’t know about the drug.”
That was not an answer.
It was an admission wearing a different coat.
“But you knew about the ambush,” I said.
Her mouth trembled.
“You were supposed to be injured, not paralyzed.”
A sound came from one of my men.
I barely heard it.
My world had narrowed to her beautiful lying face.
“You planned to marry me after helping destroy me?”
She cried harder.
“Dean said once we married, I could protect you. He said you were trapped in old wars. He said the family needed to change.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“She heard money and power. Don’t dress it in poetry.”
Camille slapped him.
He laughed.
That was when the first gun came out.
Not from Dean.
From one of my own guards near the door.
Enzo.
A man whose daughter I had once paid surgery bills for.
He aimed at Soren.
“Everyone stays calm,” Enzo said.
My chest tightened.
“How many?” I asked Dean.
“How many what?”
“How many of my men did you buy?”
Dean smiled.
“Enough.”
Then a small voice came from behind the half-open service door.
“Mama, I’m scared.”
Nina.
Carla’s whisper followed.
“Quiet, baby.”
Dean’s eyes moved toward the sound.
So did Enzo’s gun.
Something ancient and violent woke in me.
“Do not look at the child,” I said.
Dean smiled wider.
“Still pretending you’re noble?”
“No,” I said. “Remembering I’m dangerous.”
I hit the silent alarm under my desk.
May you like
Dean noticed too late.
The room erupted.
