Chapter 7 - A Blind Man Sees Everything
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Claudio held the photograph.
Diego sat behind the blindfold.
Sofia stood near the window.
Fausto had gone completely pale.
Then Claudio laughed.
“You can walk.”
Diego let his head remain tilted.
No reaction.
Claudio marched closer.
“Enough.”
He grabbed the blindfold.
Sofia stepped between them.
“Don't touch him.”
Claudio shoved her aside.
Not hard enough to knock her down, but enough.
Diego's hands tightened beneath the blanket.
Every instinct told him to stand.
He didn't.
Not yet.
Claudio ripped away the blindfold.
Cloudy lenses stared back.
“Look at me.”
Diego's gaze did not focus.
Claudio held the photograph inches from his face.
“This is you.”
No response.
Fausto recovered first.
“What exactly do you think you're doing?”
Claudio turned.
“You knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That he can move.”
Fausto took the photograph.
He examined it.
Then laughed.
Unexpected.
Claudio blinked.
“What?”
“This could be anyone.”
“It's Diego.”
“The man's face is turned.”
“The build—”
“Your brother has bruised ribs, torn ligaments, and neurological complications. You want to prove fraud with a blurry photograph?”
Claudio's confidence slipped.
Sofia understood immediately.
The image had been taken through the archive camera from behind.
Diego's face was partially hidden.
Fausto continued.
“Perhaps you should explain why you're secretly photographing restricted areas of your own house.”
Claudio grabbed the picture.
“I didn't take it.”
“Then who did?”
Silence.
That was the question Diego needed.
Claudio had received the image.
From whom?
Claudio looked toward Sofia.
“You.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“You think I took a photograph of myself helping a supposedly paralyzed man stand and then gave it to you?”
He had no answer.
Diego almost admired her.
Claudio turned to security.
“Search her room.”
“No,” Diego said.
Everyone froze.
His voice was weak but clear.
Claudio slowly looked at him.
“What did you say?”
Diego moved his head toward the sound.
“No.”
Perfectly controlled.
Not too strong.
Not too alert.
Claudio stared.
“You can speak?”
Diego had spoken occasionally in front of the household, but never directly to Claudio since the crash.
“My room,” Diego rasped. “My staff.”
The implication was clear.
Even broken, Diego had not surrendered authority.
Claudio leaned closer.
“Do you know who I am?”
Diego waited.
Then whispered, “Claudio.”
His brother went white.
Hope and fear fought across his face.
If Diego's mind remained intact, obtaining control would become harder.
“Do you know what happened?”
“Car.”
“Do you remember the crash?”
Diego deliberately let confusion enter his expression.
“Rain.”
Claudio watched him.
“Can you see me?”
Diego stared slightly past his shoulder.
“No.”
Sofia noticed Claudio relax.
Good.
He wanted Diego impaired but mentally competent enough to manipulate.
That told them something.
Claudio did not want Diego dead anymore.
He wanted Diego useful.
“Everyone out,” Claudio said.
Sofia refused.
“I said everyone.”
“She stays,” Diego whispered.
Claudio stared at him.
Sofia felt the room change.
A maid being chosen over a brother was an insult Claudio could not hide.
His eyes hardened.
“Fine.”
He left.
The security guards followed.
Fausto waited until the hallway was quiet.
Then Diego removed the lenses.
“Excellent performance,” Fausto whispered.
Diego ignored the compliment.
“Who sent Claudio that photograph?”
“No idea.”
Sofia said, “The archive has an internal camera?”
“One I didn't know existed.”
“Then whoever installed it knows the villa.”
Diego nodded.
Fausto shifted nervously.
“You asked about Palermo.”
“Yes.”
The doctor sat.
“Your father and Salvatore De Luca were partners once. It ended badly.”
“We know.”
“Matteo was seventeen when Salvatore's network collapsed.”
“What happened to him?”
“He came to your father.”
Diego frowned.
“Why?”
“To kill him.”
Sofia stared.
Fausto continued.
“Matteo brought a pistol to a clinic in Palermo. I was there treating your father's injuries after an unrelated incident. The boy entered through the back.”
“What happened?”
“Antonio disarmed him.”
“And?”
“He let him go.”
Diego had expected murder.
Revenge.
Disappearance.
Not mercy.
“Why?”
“Your father told him, ‘Your father's crimes aren't yours unless you choose them.’”
The room went silent.
“What happened to Matteo?”
“Antonio arranged a new identity.”
“You helped?”
“Yes.”
“What name?”
Fausto hesitated.
“I don't know what he uses now.”
Diego's eyes narrowed.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I helped create the medical records. Valli handled the legal identity.”
Sofia said, “Then Lorenzo knows.”
“Yes.”
“Could Valli be protecting Matteo?”
Fausto shook his head.
“He hated Salvatore.”
“He was family.”
“Families can hate each other better than strangers.”
Diego knew that too well.
Fausto stood.
“Antonio believed Matteo deserved a chance.”
“Did he get one?”
“I don't know.”
After Fausto left, Diego sat in silence.
Sofia began repacking the medical supplies.
“You're thinking about your father.”
“Yes.”
“You expected him to have killed the boy.”
“Yes.”
“But he didn't.”
“No.”
“Maybe you didn't know him as well as you thought.”
Diego looked at her.
“Children rarely do.”
“You're not a child.”
“I was when most of this happened.”
Sofia nodded.
Then she asked, “What do we do about Claudio?”
“Let him believe he won something today.”
“What?”
“He discovered I can speak.”
“That's not much.”
“To him it is.”
Diego explained.
Claudio would now attempt to gain Diego's signature rather than rush a declaration of incompetence.
That bought time.
More importantly, it forced Claudio's hidden partner to act.
By evening, the strategy worked.
Claudio entered Diego's room carrying corporate documents.
Sofia sat near the window.
Claudio dismissed her.
Diego said, “Stay.”
Again.
The insult deepened.
Claudio placed a pen in Diego's hand.
“I need your help.”
Diego allowed his fingers to tremble.
“With?”
“Temporary authority.”
Claudio guided Diego's hand toward the signature line.
Diego let the pen fall.
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“My hand.”
“I'll help.”
Claudio placed his own fingers around Diego's.
Diego resisted just enough.
“Tomorrow.”
His brother forced a smile.
“Tomorrow.”
Then he leaned close.
“We're family.”
Diego's expression remained blank.
Claudio whispered, “You have no one else.”
His eyes flicked toward Sofia.
“Servants leave when the money stops.”
Sofia said nothing.
Claudio departed.
Later that night, Sofia wheeled Diego onto the balcony for air.
Rain had ended.
The gardens glistened beneath moonlight.
“You don't really believe that, do you?” she asked.
“What?”
“That everyone leaves.”
Diego did not answer immediately.
“My father died. My mother left Italy. Cecilia was apparently helping someone arrange my funeral. Claudio stole my ring before I'd been home a day.”
“That wasn't the question.”
He looked at her.
Sofia rested her hands on the wheelchair handles.
“I asked whether you believe everyone leaves.”
Diego looked toward the garden.
“Yes.”
She considered that.
Then said, “I haven't.”
Something in his face softened.
Before he could respond, a light flashed near the east wing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Diego straightened.
“What?”
Sofia followed his gaze.
“You saw that?”
“Yes.”
“The old guest house?”
“Yes.”
That building had been empty for months.
Yet somebody was signaling from inside.
They waited.
Another flash.
Three short.
Two long.
Three short.
Diego recognized the pattern.
Not Morse code.
An old Ramos security signal.
Used only by senior household guards.
Threat inside.
They returned to the villa.
At the east-wing corridor, they found a door locked from the outside.
Sofia used her master key.
Inside was Carlo Benedetti, Diego's former head of security, dismissed by Cecilia two days earlier.
His hands were tied.
His face was bruised, but he was conscious.
“Boss,” Carlo whispered when he saw Diego.
Then his eyes moved to the wheelchair.
Diego stood.
Carlo stared.
“You're not—”
“Later.”
They freed him.
Carlo grabbed Diego's arm.
“The crash,” he said.
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
Diego leaned closer.
Carlo swallowed.
“Claudio didn't order it.”
“Who did?”
“I don't know his real name.”
“Then give me the false one.”
Carlo looked toward the corridor.
“The man has been inside your company for twelve years.”
Diego's chest tightened.
“Who?”
Carlo answered.
And suddenly every strange piece began moving into place.
May you like
“Marco.”
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