Chapter 2 - OPEN THE CURTAINS
Dr. Elena Russo answered on the fourth ring.
Alessandro had not spoken to her in seventeen months.
Her first words were:
“Oh my God.”
He nearly hung up.
Pity was the fastest way to end a conversation with Alessandro Moretti.
Then Elena added:
“You’re alive.”
His hand tightened around the phone.
“What exactly did you think?”
“That you wanted nothing to do with me.”
Alessandro looked across his desk at Marco.
Marco stood by the bookshelves with his arms folded.
“What are you talking about?”
Elena became quiet.
“I called for months.”
“I never received a call.”
“I emailed.”
“Never saw one.”
“I sent letters.”
Alessandro’s gaze moved toward Marco.
Marco’s posture changed slightly.
Elena continued.
“I even came to the estate twice.”
Alessandro went completely still.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You never came here.”
“The first time security said you were sleeping. The second time Mr. Bellini told me you were no longer interested in rehabilitation.”
Alessandro looked directly at Marco.
Marco immediately stepped forward.
“Let me explain.”
Alessandro held up one finger.
Marco stopped.
Elena continued through the phone.
“I wasn't promising you would walk, Alessandro.”
His jaw tightened.
“I never did.”
“I know.”
“But you had made significant progress with upper-body conditioning, transfers, wheelchair mobility. There was still a lot we could work on.”
“You said the injury was permanent.”
“The injury is permanent.”
Elena's tone hardened.
“That does not mean your life had to stop.”
The sentence landed.
Alessandro stared at the open curtains.
Emma was outside the office on the carpet, coloring with Sophia.
Her little laugh drifted through the doorway.
“What did Marco tell you?” Alessandro asked.
Elena hesitated.
“That continuing therapy was making you angry.”
Marco exhaled sharply.
“Enough.”
Alessandro slowly lowered the phone.
“No.”
Marco stopped.
Alessandro activated speakerphone.
“Elena. Repeat it.”
“Alessandro—”
“Repeat it.”
She did.
“Marco told me therapy was making you angry, that you wanted everyone to stop pushing you, and that future visits were forbidden.”
Alessandro looked at his oldest friend.
“You told her that?”
Marco’s voice lowered.
“You were miserable.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“You came back from therapy furious every time.”
“Because it hurt.”
“Exactly.”
Alessandro slammed his palm onto the desk.
“I DECIDE WHAT PAIN I CAN TAKE.”
Sophia flinched in the hallway.
Emma looked up.
Alessandro saw the child's startled face.
His rage stopped instantly.
He closed his eyes.
When he spoke again, his voice was controlled.
“You canceled my therapy.”
Marco stepped closer.
“I protected you from people selling you false hope.”
“Elena never promised me I would walk.”
Marco had no answer.
Alessandro picked up the phone.
“Elena.”
“Yes?”
“Come tomorrow.”
Silence.
Then:
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
Alessandro glanced toward Emma.
“Come anyway.”
The following morning, Dr. Elena Russo arrived at 9:00.
Marco was not invited.
Alessandro noticed that three members of security still called Marco before allowing Elena through the front gate.
He changed that policy before breakfast.
Elena entered the therapy room and stopped.
The equipment was covered in dust.
Resistance bands unopened.
A transfer board still in plastic.
An adaptive rowing system leaned against the wall.
“You bought all this.”
“My people did.”
“And then nobody used it.”
Alessandro’s expression hardened.
Emma wandered in behind Sophia.
“What’s this room?”
“Torture,” Alessandro said.
Elena laughed.
Emma frowned.
“Bad torture?”
Sophia nearly choked.
Elena crouched.
“Exercise.”
“Oh.”
Emma looked at Alessandro.
“You exercise?”
“No.”
Emma pointed at Elena.
“She says yes.”
Alessandro stared at the ceiling.
“Traitor.”
Elena began gently.
Positioning.
Balance.
Shoulder stability.
Movements Alessandro had once performed easily now made sweat appear across his forehead.
After twenty minutes, his arms shook.
“Enough.”
Elena stopped immediately.
He hated that she stopped.
“Again.”
“You said enough.”
“I changed my mind.”
She smiled.
“That sounds familiar.”
They continued.
Emma sat cross-legged nearby counting repetitions badly.
“One. Two. Three. Five. Seven.”
Alessandro grimaced.
“You skipped four.”
“I don’t like four.”
By the end of the session, his shirt was damp.
His hands trembled.
He also felt more alive than he had in months.
Elena showed Sophia how to position the chair safely if Alessandro wanted assistance.
He bristled.
“I don't need a maid becoming my nurse.”
Sophia looked directly at him.
“Good.”
He blinked.
“Good?”
“I’m not a nurse.”
Emma nodded.
“Mommy cleans.”
Sophia continued.
“And if you want help, ask. If you don’t, I have eleven bathrooms upstairs.”
Alessandro stared at her.
Most employees apologized when he frowned.
Sophia simply picked up a towel.
He almost respected her for it.
Almost.
Over the next two weeks, routine returned in strange pieces.
Elena came four mornings each week.
Emma arrived in the office most afternoons despite Sophia’s efforts.
The curtains stayed open.
Lunch started appearing on Alessandro’s desk.
Emma inspected the plate.
“You eat?”
“Yes.”
“All?”
“No.”
She pointed.
“All.”
He ate more than usual simply to end the conversation.
One afternoon, she rolled a red rubber ball toward his chair.
It stopped beneath his footrest.
“Get it.”
“I can't.”
Emma stared.
Alessandro felt the familiar rage rise.
Not at her.
At himself.
At reality.
At legs that remained silent no matter how much the rest of him commanded them.
Then Emma stood, walked to the ball, picked it up and placed it in his lap.
“Okay.”
That was it.
No pity.
No sad face.
No apology.
There was a problem.
She solved it.
Alessandro looked down at the ball.
Something inside him shifted.
That evening, he asked Elena to teach him independent transfers again.
Three days later, he moved himself from wheelchair to therapy table with only minimal assistance.
It took four attempts.
On the third, he nearly fell.
He shouted in frustration.
Emma, watching through the doorway, covered her ears.
Alessandro stopped.
He remembered something Marco had said.
You came home from therapy angry.
He had.
He had weaponized his frustration against everyone around him.
Even people trying to help.
“Sorry,” he said.
The room went silent.
Sophia looked at him.
Emma uncovered one ear.
“What?”
Alessandro almost laughed.
“I said I'm sorry.”
Emma nodded.
“Okay.”
Then she held up three fingers.
“Again.”
Elena smiled.
“Your coach is brutal.”
Alessandro tried again.
This time he made it.
Emma exploded.
“YOU DID IT!”
She jumped up and down so violently Sophia grabbed her before she toppled into the equipment.
Alessandro laughed.
Full.
Uncontrolled.
Sophia froze.
She had never heard it before.
That night Alessandro ate dinner downstairs.
The dining room had not been used in almost a year.
Sophia opened the windows.
Emma spilled milk.
Alessandro discovered three-year-olds could somehow get pasta on ceilings.
For forty minutes, the Moretti mansion sounded like a home.
Then Marco arrived.
He stood in the dining-room doorway.
The warmth vanished instantly.
“You’re downstairs.”
Alessandro wiped sauce from his hand.
“Observant.”
Marco forced a smile.
“This is good.”
“Is it?”
“Of course.”
Alessandro looked toward Sophia.
“Take Emma upstairs.”
Sophia immediately understood.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
Emma protested.
“I’m eating.”
“You can finish upstairs.”
When they were gone, Alessandro turned toward Marco.
“I need the financial packets from the last eighteen months.”
Marco did not react.
“What for?”
“I want to review them.”
“I handle operational reporting.”
“I know.”
“That’s why you asked me to.”
“I’m asking for them back.”
Marco pulled out a chair.
“Alessandro, don't overload yourself.”
The words struck differently now.
Alessandro’s gaze became dangerous.
“Overload myself?”
“You're finally doing better.”
“So?”
“You should focus on recovery.”
Alessandro leaned back.
“For two years you told me I'm still the boss.”
“You are.”
“Then bring me my books.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“They’re complicated.”
Alessandro laughed once.
Cold.
“Marco.”
“Yes?”
“I ran this organization before you knew how to wear a suit.”
Silence.
“Bring me the records.”
Marco stood.
“Tomorrow.”
“Tonight.”
Marco looked at him.
For the first time in fifteen years of friendship, neither man pretended the conversation was normal.
Marco finally nodded.
“Fine.”
He left.
An hour later, Sophia knocked on Alessandro’s office door.
“You forgot something in the therapy room.”
She carried an old cardboard file box.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
She placed it on the desk.
“It was behind the rowing machine.”
Alessandro opened it.
Inside were sealed envelopes.
More than twenty.
All addressed to him.
Some from doctors.
Some attorneys.
Two old friends.
Several business associates.
One envelope carried the name LUCA BIANCHI.
Alessandro’s expression changed.
Luca had been one of his most trusted captains before suddenly leaving Chicago eighteen months earlier.
Marco told him Luca had chosen retirement.
Alessandro opened the letter.
It contained only five handwritten lines.
Alessandro,
Marco will not let me see you.
He says you are no longer capable of making decisions.
That is not what he is telling your men.
Call me before you sign anything else.
Something is wrong.
Alessandro read it twice.
Sophia watched his face drain of color.
“When was that written?”
He checked.
Seventeen months ago.
The same month Marco convinced him to stop therapy.
Alessandro slowly looked toward the doorway.
Then toward the closed security camera above it.
“Get Emma.”
Sophia frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you’re both leaving the estate tonight.”
Her face changed.
“Are we in danger?”
Alessandro stared at Luca's letter.
“I don't know.”
May you like
Then his eyes hardened.
“And I hate not knowing.”
