Chapter 4 - The Hero’s Wound
Massimo watched the recording seven times.
On the eighth, he stopped feeling surprised.
Surprise was useful only when it lasted a second.
After that, it became weakness.
Dean had always understood that.
Massimo had learned it from the same men.
The next morning, he behaved exactly as he had for six months.
He complained about pain.
He swallowed two pills under Hale’s supervision.
Then discreetly removed them from beneath his tongue after the doctor left.
He allowed Dean to push his chair into the dining room.
He let Camille adjust the blanket across his knees.
He even allowed himself to look tired.
Defeated.
Dependent.
It was one of the hardest performances of his life.
Not because Massimo Rinaldi disliked pretending to be weak.
Because he had spent six months believing the performance was real.
Meanwhile, Luca began rebuilding the ambush from the beginning.
Not from police reports.
Not from Rinaldi reports.
Not from Dean’s version.
From evidence.
Three vehicles had boxed in Massimo’s convoy.
The shooters had escaped.
The Bellandi family had been blamed within hours.
There had been no arrests.
No retaliation had ever produced definitive proof.
That fact bothered Massimo now.
The Rinaldis were not accustomed to mysteries lasting six months.
Luca found the first crack in the story through ballistics.
The bullets removed from Dean’s body were not identical to those recovered from Massimo’s vehicle.
Different ammunition.
Different angle.
Different distance.
Massimo stared at the photographs spread across the desk.
“You’re certain?”
“The surgeon kept fragments.”
“Why was this never flagged?”
“Dean’s medical report was sealed.”
“By whom?”
“Hale.”
Massimo gave a humorless smile.
Of course.
Luca pointed to the diagram.
“The rounds that hit your car came from the street.”
“The rounds that hit Dean came from much closer.”
“How close?”
“Possibly inside the convoy perimeter.”
Massimo said nothing.
The story everyone had repeated for six months began collapsing.
Dean had not necessarily been hit while shielding Massimo.
He might have been shot afterward.
Deliberately.
A sacrifice designed to look heroic.
“Find the driver.”
Luca looked uncomfortable.
“Anthony?”
“No.”
Massimo tapped the photograph of the second security vehicle.
“Marco Velez.”
Marco had been driving directly behind Massimo during the ambush.
According to Dean, Marco disappeared two days later because he feared retaliation.
Massimo had believed it.
Now he believed almost nothing.
Luca searched for thirty-six hours.
He finally found Marco living under another name in a fishing town on the Connecticut coast.
Massimo did not summon him to the estate.
That would have been too obvious.
Instead, Luca brought Massimo’s secure tablet to the wine cellar at three in the morning.
Marco appeared on the screen.
He looked ten years older.
The moment he saw Massimo, all color drained from his face.
“Boss.”
“Why did you run?”
Marco swallowed.
“I was told to.”
“By me?”
“No.”
“By Dean?”
Silence.
Massimo leaned closer.
“Marco.”
The man closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“What did you see?”
Marco’s breathing became uneven.
“The third car wasn’t Bellandi.”
Massimo felt something cold move through him.
“Whose?”
“I don’t know.”
“That answer gets people killed.”
“I swear.”
Marco spoke quickly.
“It came through from the service road.”
“It was already waiting.”
“Dean knew.”
“How?”
“He told me to slow down ten seconds before the first shots.”
Massimo’s face became stone.
“Exact words.”
Marco hesitated.
“Give them room.”
Luca looked at Massimo.
Massimo did not move.
“What happened after I was hit?”
“Dean climbed over you.”
“I remember.”
“No.”
Marco shook his head.
“Not immediately.”
Massimo’s eyes sharpened.
Marco continued.
“He waited.”
“How long?”
“Three seconds.”
“Maybe four.”
“That’s not long.”
“It is when someone is shooting.”
Marco’s voice cracked.
“He looked out the window first.”
“Like he was waiting for something.”
“Then he covered you.”
Massimo said nothing.
Marco wiped sweat from his forehead.
“After security fired back, Dean got out.”
“Then I heard two different shots.”
“Closer.”
“Dean fell.”
“Those were the bullets that made him a hero.”
Massimo whispered.
Marco nodded.
“I think so.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Dean came to my house two nights later.”
Marco looked ashamed.
“He knew my wife’s work schedule.”
“He knew my son’s school.”
“He put cash on the table and told me there were two ways to disappear.”
“I chose the one where my family lived.”
Massimo looked away.
He understood.
That did not make it hurt less.
“Why speak now?”
Marco stared at him.
“Because I heard you were dying.”
Massimo looked back.
“Who told you that?”
“Dean.”
The call ended fifteen minutes later.
Luca remained silent.
Massimo stared at the dark tablet screen.
Twelve years.
He thought of all the times Dean had sat at his table.
All the secrets he had trusted him with.
All the men Massimo had distrusted because Dean advised him to.
All the decisions made after the ambush.
Then Luca placed one more object on the table.
A small digital recorder.
“What is that?”
“The convoy’s rear camera system kept a damaged audio file.”
“We thought it was corrupted.”
“And?”
“A technician recovered eleven seconds.”
Luca pressed play.
Static filled the cellar.
Then gunfire.
A man shouting.
Glass breaking.
And beneath it—
Dean’s voice.
Calm.
Clear.
Two words.
“Not yet.”
More gunfire.
Then Dean again.
“Now.”
The recording ended.
Massimo did not speak.
Luca did not need to ask what the words meant.
Whatever happened on Brooklyn Avenue had not surprised Dean Foster.
He had been waiting for it.
But Massimo was not prepared for what came next.
Luca opened a second file.
“I traced one of the vehicles.”
Massimo looked up.
“The third car?”
“No.”
“The fourth.”
Massimo frowned.
“There were only three.”
“That’s what every report says.”
Luca turned the tablet around.
A traffic camera image appeared.
Three vehicles surrounded Massimo’s convoy.
Forty yards behind them was a black SUV.
It never fired.
It never approached.
It simply followed the attack from a distance.
Then left before police arrived.
Luca enlarged the license plate.
The vehicle had been registered to a private corporate fleet.
Massimo read the name.
His face changed.
Ashwood Holdings.
May you like
Camille’s family company.
And for the first time since discovering the pill, Dean was no longer the only person Massimo needed to fear.
