Chapter 1 - THE BULLET THAT SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN THERE
The first mistake Carmine Lombardi made was reaching for the metal fragment before I could photograph it.
The second was pretending he hadn't.
“That's nothing,” he said, stepping toward my instrument tray. “Probably part of an old filling.”
I moved the tray out of his reach.
“Interesting diagnosis. Where did you attend dental school?”
One of the guards coughed to hide a laugh.
Carmine didn't smile.
Salvatore Lombardi sat in the leather examination chair, a folded piece of gauze pressed against his jaw. His dark eyes moved from his younger brother to me.
“Answer her question, Carmine.”
“I was trying to help.”
“Then stop.”
The room became painfully quiet.
I placed the fragment inside a sterile specimen container and sealed it.
“Mr. Lombardi, did the doctors who treated you after the harbor shooting ever mention a bullet wound near your jaw?”
Salvatore slowly removed the gauze.
“They said a bullet grazed my cheek. Nothing remained inside.”
“Who told you that?”
“Dr. Vincent Hale.”
Carmine's face lost its color.
I noticed.
So did Salvatore.
“Vincent Hale,” I repeated. “The trauma surgeon?”
“He saved my life.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But this fragment has been sitting near your molar for years. It may have contributed to the chronic inflammation and pain.”
Salvatore studied me.
“Are you saying somebody left a bullet inside my face?”
“I'm saying we need forensic analysis before identifying it. But it doesn't resemble ordinary dental material.”
Carmine suddenly reached into his jacket.
Two guards immediately turned.
Salvatore raised one hand.
“Careful, little brother.”
Carmine pulled out his phone.
“I need to make a call.”
“Sit down.”
“Salvatore—”
“Now.”
For a moment, I thought Carmine might refuse.
Then he sat.
I finished packing my instruments while Salvatore watched me with an expression I couldn't read.
“Doctor Russo.”
“Yes?”
“How much do you know about the night I was attacked?”
“Only what people say.”
“And what do people say?”
“That someone betrayed you. Three men died. You survived.”
Salvatore leaned back.
“Four men were supposed to die.”
My hands stopped moving.
“Who was the fourth?”
“Me.”
His gaze shifted toward Carmine.
“And only six people knew where I would be that night.”
Carmine stood abruptly.
“This is ridiculous.”
Salvatore ignored him.
“Doctor, I want that metal examined.”
“I can arrange an independent laboratory.”
“No one outside this house can know.”
“Then we'll need a laboratory that understands confidentiality without compromising evidence.”
Something resembling respect flickered across his face.
“Agreed.”
I collected my equipment and prepared to leave.
Salvatore's voice stopped me at the doorway.
“One more question.”
I turned.
“Did your father ever treat gunshot injuries?”
I frowned.
“He was a dentist.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“My father treated people who couldn't afford hospitals. Sometimes he helped with emergencies. Why?”
Salvatore looked toward the photograph on my identification badge.
“Your father's name was Anthony Russo?”
“Yes.”
He became completely still.
Then he whispered something that made the hair rise along my arms.
May you like
“Anthony Russo was the last man I saw before I lost consciousness at the harbor.”
And behind me, Carmine quietly dropped his phone.
