Chapter 5 - The Woman Behind the Locked Door
Dr. Fausto paced the bedroom.
“You can't fool a neurologist.”
Diego watched him.
“People fool doctors every day.”
“Not this way.”
Fausto pointed toward Diego's legs.
“He'll test reflexes. Muscle tone. Sensation. He'll know.”
Sofia stood by the door.
“Can the appointment be canceled?”
“No. The petition was filed this afternoon.”
“By whom?”
Fausto looked at Diego.
“Claudio.”
Of course.
Diego's brother wanted legal control.
But the speed bothered him.
Claudio had been reckless with the ring and impatient with the company.
This petition was efficient.
Perhaps someone was guiding him.
“What time?” Diego asked.
“Ten.”
“Name?”
“Professor Alessandro Moretti.”
Diego knew the name.
One of Italy's respected neurological specialists.
Not easily bribed.
Good.
Bribed experts were unpredictable.
Honest men could be managed by controlling what they saw.
“We move the examination,” Diego said.
Fausto stared.
“How?”
“Here.”
“It already is here.”
“Not this room.”
Diego explained.
By nine the next morning, Sofia had converted a guest suite into something resembling Diego's temporary care room.
The crucial difference was the bed.
Its lower section concealed a brace system Fausto used for certain rehabilitation patients. With straps beneath the blankets and controlled medication to temporarily reduce muscle response, Diego could make several tests inconclusive.
Not perfect.
But perhaps enough.
“You realize this could hurt,” Fausto said.
“I've noticed life tends to.”
Sofia rolled her eyes.
“You're impossible.”
Professor Moretti arrived precisely at ten.
Claudio accompanied him.
So did Valli.
Cecilia claimed the examination was too distressing and remained downstairs.
Coward, Diego thought.
Moretti was in his sixties with silver hair and patient eyes.
He ignored the family and spoke directly to Diego.
“Mr. Ramos, I'm Professor Moretti. I'm going to examine you.”
Diego stared blankly through the clouded lenses.
Moretti tested his pupils.
Fausto stood nearby, sweating.
The specialist frowned.
Then moved to Diego's arms.
Pain.
Reflexes.
Grip.
Diego performed weakness.
Moretti tested his legs.
Sofia watched from the corner.
She had never seen someone maintain such control.
The examination lasted forty-three minutes.
When Moretti finished, he removed his glasses.
Claudio leaned forward.
“Well?”
“I would prefer reviewing the hospital imaging.”
“Of course, but your initial opinion?”
Moretti looked irritated.
“My initial opinion is that your brother suffered significant trauma.”
“Permanent?”
“Medicine does not reward people who use that word quickly.”
Claudio's face tightened.
“Can he make decisions?”
“That is not determined by whether his legs move.”
Valli stepped in.
“Professor—”
Moretti raised a hand.
“I'll submit my report.”
Then he looked at Diego again.
For one second too long.
Diego felt it.
The neurologist suspected something.
When Moretti left, Claudio followed.
Valli remained at the door.
He studied Sofia.
“Why are you here?”
“She assists with his care.”
“Since when?”
“Since he came home.”
Valli's eyes narrowed.
“Be careful, Ms. Bellini.”
“About?”
“Becoming emotionally attached to situations that aren't yours.”
Sofia smiled politely.
“I thought caring was my job.”
Valli left.
When the door closed, Diego exhaled.
Fausto almost collapsed into a chair.
“You're insane.”
“Did he believe it?”
“No.”
Sofia's stomach dropped.
“What?”
Fausto shook his head.
“He didn't believe paralysis at that level. I could see it.”
“Then we're finished,” Sofia whispered.
Diego disagreed.
“No.”
“How?”
“Because he didn't expose me.”
Fausto stared.
Diego continued.
“If Moretti thought this was simply fraud, he would've confronted me or Claudio. He did neither.”
“You think he understood?”
“I think he understood enough to become cautious.”
That afternoon, Professor Moretti's report arrived.
Inconclusive.
Further evaluation recommended after recovery from acute trauma.
Claudio exploded.
Diego heard a glass break downstairs.
Perfect.
Angry men made mistakes.
At four, Sofia was sent to Cecilia's dressing room.
The door was locked.
Unusual.
She knocked.
No answer.
She used the housekeeping key.
The room was empty.
Drawers stood open.
Several dresses were missing.
The suitcase from the previous evening was gone.
Sofia checked the bathroom.
Nothing.
Then she heard something behind the wardrobe.
A sound.
A muted vibration.
She moved closer.
Another vibration.
A phone.
Behind the wardrobe panel was a narrow storage recess.
Inside sat a handbag Cecilia rarely used.
The phone vibrated again.
Sofia did not touch it.
She read the notification visible on the screen.
UNKNOWN:
You promised he'd be dead before the wedding.
Sofia's blood ran cold.
A second message appeared.
If he wakes up, Claudio goes first. Then you.
She stepped back.
Cecilia was involved.
But somebody was threatening her.
Sofia hurried toward Diego.
Halfway down the corridor she saw Marco.
He leaned against the wall.
“Looking for something?”
“No.”
“Cecilia?”
“I was asked to prepare her room.”
Marco smiled.
“She's gone.”
Sofia stopped.
“You know where?”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“But I know she didn't leave voluntarily.”
“What does that mean?”
“Ask Diego.”
Sofia's expression betrayed her.
Only slightly.
But Marco noticed.
His smile faded.
“Interesting.”
She walked away.
Too fast.
By the time she reached Diego's room, her hands were shaking.
She closed the door.
“Cecilia's disappeared.”
Diego removed his blindfold.
“What?”
She told him about the phone.
Then Marco.
Diego stood despite the pain.
“Repeat exactly what Marco said.”
“‘Ask Diego.’”
“That makes no sense.”
“He looked like he knew something.”
Diego paced once, favoring his injured knee.
“Marco wasn't in the city when I crashed.”
“Could he still be involved?”
“Everyone could.”
Sofia crossed her arms.
“That's a comforting philosophy.”
“It's kept me alive.”
She showed him a photograph she had taken of the phone notification.
Diego read the message.
His expression hardened.
You promised he'd be dead before the wedding.
Cecilia had promised someone.
Not Claudio.
Someone above Claudio.
Perhaps above Valli.
For the first time, Diego questioned whether his brother had ordered the crash at all.
Maybe Claudio had only joined the conspiracy after he believed Diego would die.
Greedy.
Cowardly.
Manipulated.
That did not make him innocent.
But it changed the board.
At sunset, security reported Cecilia's car found near Florence's train station.
Empty.
No sign of Cecilia.
In her room, Sofia discovered one final clue.
Inside the locked recess beside the second phone was a photograph.
Old.
Faded.
It showed Diego's father standing beside a younger man Diego immediately recognized.
Lorenzo Valli.
Behind them stood a third man whose face had been partially torn from the photograph.
On the back, someone had written three words.
Ask about Palermo.
Diego stared at it.
He had not heard that city mentioned inside his family for nearly twenty years.
His father had forbidden it.
And suddenly Diego understood that whatever began with his brakes had roots much older than Claudio's resentment.
“Tomorrow,” he told Sofia, “we open my father's archive.”
“What are we looking for?”
Diego looked again at the damaged photograph.
“The reason someone waited twenty years to finish what they started.”
And hundreds of miles away, Cecilia Grassi sat in a locked room staring at the same photograph.
Across from her, a man placed a phone on the table.
“You failed,” he said.
Cecilia's face went white.
The man leaned closer.
May you like
“Now tell me whether Diego Ramos can really see.”
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