Chapter 5 - THE BLOOD ON GABRIEL'S CUFF
“You said your superintendent told you Angelo died,” Gabriel said.
“He did.”
“Did you see a body?”
“No.”
“A funeral?”
“No.”
“Death certificate?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“You think he’s alive.”
“I think Angelo Rossi spent thirty years making people believe things that weren’t true.”
That was difficult to argue with.
My phone rang.
The care facility.
For one terrifying second, I thought something had happened to Mom.
Instead, a nurse told me she was awake and unusually alert.
I grabbed my coat.
Gabriel stood.
“I’m coming.”
“I can visit my mother alone.”
“Someone shot through a window less than twelve hours ago.”
I hated that he had a point.
At the hospital, Mom looked smaller than I remembered.
Her hair had gone almost completely gray.
Her right hand rested beneath a blanket.
I sat beside her.
“Hey, Mom.”
Her eyes moved toward me.
Then toward Gabriel.
Something changed.
Her fingers tightened.
Gabriel noticed.
“Mrs. Taylor?”
She stared at him.
Then made a sound.
It took me several seconds to understand.
“Rossi?”
Gabriel stepped closer.
“Yes.”
Mom’s breathing quickened.
I leaned toward her.
“Mom, did you know Angelo Rossi?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
She squeezed once.
Yes.
“Did Vittorio hurt you?”
Her hand trembled.
Another squeeze.
My chest tightened.
Gabriel looked away.
I tried another question.
“Did Angelo save you?”
Yes.
Then Gabriel quietly spoke in the old Sicilian dialect.
“Did he leave something unfinished?”
My mother’s eyes widened.
Her lips moved.
For years, most of her words had been broken fragments.
This one was clear.
“Book.”
“The ledger?” I asked.
She squeezed my hand.
Then her eyes moved toward Gabriel’s wrist.
His sleeve had pulled back.
A thin scar crossed his forearm.
Mom began shaking.
“No.”
I turned.
“What?”
She pointed at Gabriel’s cuff.
Suddenly I remembered the first time I had noticed him at Ilvento.
The dried blood on his white shirt.
I had pretended not to see it.
Now, with my mother terrified, I asked the question I had avoided for three months.
“Gabriel, whose blood was on your shirt that night?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“My bodyguard’s.”
“What happened?”
“Someone tried to kill my father.”
I froze.
“What?”
Gabriel sat beside the bed.
“Three months ago, his car was attacked. One of my men was shot pulling him out.”
“So that blood…”
“I was holding pressure on the wound.”
The image of Gabriel changed.
Not completely.
But enough.
“Did your father know who attacked him?”
“No.”
My mother suddenly made another sound.
“Vitt…”
I leaned closer.
“Vittorio?”
She nodded violently.
Then pointed toward herself.
“Same.”
The room went silent.
The same man who had tried to silence my mother twelve years ago was now trying to kill Salvatore.
Gabriel’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression turned cold.
“What happened?”
A pause.
Then:
“When?”
He hung up.
“What?”
“My father’s medical tests came back.”
“Is he sick?”
Gabriel looked at my mother.
“Someone has been poisoning him slowly for almost a year.”
Mom closed her eyes.
Then whispered another name.
Not Vittorio.
“Luca.”
May you like
Gabriel went completely still.
Luca Rossi was his younger brother.
