Chapter 7 - The Bride’s Plan
Massimo did not cancel the wedding.
Everyone advised him to.
Luca.
Elena.
Even Carla.
Massimo refused.
“If I cancel it, Camille knows I know.”
Carla stared at him.
“She’s trying to kill you.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re still going to stand at an altar with her?”
Massimo looked down at his legs.
“Sit.”
Carla did not smile.
Neither did he.
The wedding was now the best weapon he had.
Camille and Dean believed it was their deadline.
Massimo intended to make it their trap.
But first, he needed the entire truth.
Hale survived the motel attack.
Barely.
He was moved under another name to a private medical facility guarded by Luca’s men.
Massimo spoke with him the next evening.
Hale looked broken.
“I didn’t know she wanted you dead.”
Massimo said nothing.
“I swear.”
Hale’s voice shook.
“She told me she needed you medically dependent.”
“She wanted documentation.”
“Permanent disability.”
“Reduced mobility.”
“Cognitive fatigue.”
Massimo’s eyes hardened.
“You falsified records.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to specialists.”
“I altered the charts they received.”
Massimo leaned closer.
“Why?”
Hale closed his eyes.
“Money.”
“At least you’re not pretending it was love.”
Hale swallowed.
“Camille approached me first.”
“Then Dean came later.”
“How much later?”
“After the ambush.”
Massimo paused.
“So Dean didn’t know about you before Brooklyn Avenue?”
“No.”
That complicated everything.
Camille had prepared the medical deception before the attack.
Dean had helped engineer the attack.
But they might have begun separately.
“When did you realize Dean was involved?”
“Two days after you came home.”
“He visited me.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me your condition needed to remain exactly as it was.”
Massimo’s jaw tightened.
“Did Camille know he contacted you?”
“I don’t know.”
Hale hesitated.
“They started meeting privately after that.”
Two separate plots had collided.
Camille wanted a disabled husband.
Dean wanted a dead boss.
When Massimo survived, their goals aligned.
The thought was almost worse than a single conspiracy.
Massimo had not been betrayed by one enemy.
He had been surrounded by predators who independently decided he was worth more helpless than strong.
Hale gave him one final piece of information.
“Camille has copies of your medical incapacity certificates.”
“Where?”
“Her lawyer prepared them.”
“What lawyer?”
Hale said the name.
Massimo recognized it immediately.
Nathan Ashwood.
Camille’s older brother.
Now the conspiracy had reached her family.
But this was not a new villain.
It was infrastructure.
Camille remained the center.
Massimo understood the difference.
The next morning, Camille entered his room carrying fabric samples.
She sat beside him.
“Midnight black or charcoal?”
Massimo stared.
“For what?”
“Dean’s suit.”
Massimo gave a quiet laugh.
“You’re choosing Dean’s clothes now?”
“He has no taste.”
“That much is true.”
Camille smiled.
For a moment, she looked like the woman Massimo remembered.
That was the cruelest part.
There had been real moments between them.
Or at least Massimo had believed they were real.
Trips.
Dinners.
Quiet mornings.
Nights when Camille slept with her head against his chest and spoke about children.
Had every moment been calculated?
He did not know.
He hated that he still wanted to.
Camille touched his hand.
“You seem better.”
Massimo looked at her.
“Do I?”
“You seem more awake.”
A dangerous sentence.
Massimo allowed exhaustion into his expression.
“Maybe the wedding excitement.”
Camille studied him.
Then smiled again.
“Maybe.”
That evening, Dean entered Massimo’s study alone.
“We have a problem.”
“Which one?”
“Bellandi.”
Massimo lifted an eyebrow.
Dean placed photographs on the desk.
Several men meeting near a warehouse.
“They’re moving again.”
“Convenient.”
Dean looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the Bellandis disappear for six months and suddenly become active ten days before my wedding.”
Dean leaned forward.
“You think I staged the photographs?”
Massimo met his eyes.
The room became still.
Then Massimo laughed.
Dean laughed too.
Neither man meant it.
“You’re getting suspicious.”
Dean poured himself whiskey.
“Maybe marriage is bad for you.”
“It hasn’t happened yet.”
“Exactly.”
Dean took a drink.
“You sure you want to marry Camille?”
Massimo watched him.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Dean shrugged.
“No reason.”
There.
A crack.
Tiny.
But real.
Dean and Camille did not completely trust one another.
Massimo could use that.
“Dean.”
“Yeah?”
“If something happens to me after the wedding, who runs things?”
Dean’s face changed almost imperceptibly.
“Why ask that?”
“Answer.”
“Camille controls the trust.”
“And you?”
“Operations.”
Massimo nodded.
“Comfortable arrangement.”
Dean put down his glass.
“Massimo.”
“Yes?”
“You think I want your chair?”
Massimo looked at the wheelchair.
“No.”
He smiled faintly.
“I think you want everything except the chair.”
Dean’s eyes hardened.
For one moment, the mask slipped.
Then he laughed again.
“Get some sleep.”
After he left, Massimo rolled to the hidden rehabilitation room.
He trained until two in the morning.
Twenty feet.
Thirty.
Forty.
With a cane, he could now cross the room.
Slowly.
Painfully.
But he could do it.
Elena watched him reach the opposite wall.
“You’re pushing too hard.”
Massimo turned.
“I have ten days.”
“To do what?”
“Stand at my own wedding.”
Elena stared at him.
“Why?”
Massimo looked toward the locked door.
“Because Camille has spent six months preparing to marry a helpless man.”
May you like
He tightened his hand around the cane.
“I want her to meet her husband.”
