Chapter 5 - THE BULLET MEANT FOR VINCENT
The bullet missed Vincent’s heart by four inches.
It struck his shoulder.
By the time Claire reached St. Catherine’s Hospital, the entire private floor was locked down.
Armed Moretti guards stood beside every elevator.
Marco met her outside surgery.
“There was only one shooter.”
“Price?”
“He fired.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
Claire looked through the small window.
Vincent lay unconscious beneath white sheets.
Something inside her twisted.
Divorced or not, that was still the man who held her hand during eighteen hours of labor.
The man who sang terribly to Lily when she had nightmares.
The man she had loved since she was twenty.
Anger did not erase history.
She sat beside his bed after surgery.
Hours later, Vincent woke.
His first word was:
“Claire?”
“I’m here.”
His eyes found her.
For one second, he looked relieved.
Then ashamed.
“You shouldn’t be.”
“Don’t start.”
A faint smile.
“You’re still bossy.”
“You were shot.”
“Minor inconvenience.”
“Vincent.”
“Fine.”
He watched her.
“Why did Price do it?”
Claire explained everything.
Her father.
Bennett Capital.
The trust.
Dr. Price.
The possible medication manipulation.
Vincent went silent.
Then he whispered:
“I thought I was losing my mind.”
Claire’s chest tightened.
“What?”
“For months.”
He stared at the ceiling.
“I couldn’t feel anything.”
“Nothing?”
“Not nothing.”
His voice broke.
“I knew I loved Lily.”
He swallowed.
“And I knew I loved you.”
Claire froze.
“But it felt far away. Like I could see my life through glass.”
She didn’t speak.
“I thought that meant the marriage was dead.”
His eyes closed.
“So I started chasing anything that made me feel something.”
“Clubs.”
“Yes.”
“Late nights.”
“Yes.”
“Other women?”
The question hurt to ask.
Vincent opened his eyes immediately.
“No.”
Claire studied him.
“I never touched anyone.”
She believed him.
Not because she wanted to.
Because she knew how he lied.
And he wasn’t lying.
“I almost wished I had,” he said bitterly. “At least then there would’ve been a reason I understood.”
Claire sat back.
“The divorce was still your choice.”
“I know.”
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“Manipulation explains it.”
She held his gaze.
“It doesn’t erase it.”
His eyes filled with regret.
“I know.”
That was the first apology he gave without asking her to rescue him from the consequences.
Marco entered.
“We found Price’s apartment.”
Vincent straightened.
“And?”
“He ran.”
“Where?”
“Unknown.”
Marco placed photographs on the table.
Inside Price’s apartment were files on Vincent.
Sleep schedule.
Medication.
Emotional reactions.
Marriage conflicts.
Claire felt sick.
Someone had been documenting them.
Marco pointed toward one page.
“Price increased Vincent’s medication seven times.”
Claire’s hands tightened.
“Who authorized the treatment plan?”
Marco hesitated.
“That’s where it gets bad.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Say it.”
“The payments didn’t come from Salvatore.”
“Salvatore is dead.”
“Exactly.”
Marco placed a bank record down.
The account funding Price’s work remained active.
And its authorized user was somebody still inside the family.
Vincent read the name.
His face emptied.
“No.”
Claire leaned closer.
The signature belonged to:
ELENA MORETTI.
May you like
Vincent’s mother.
The woman currently caring for Lily.
