Authors: Melinda De Ross
Giovanni winced when the stiff fabric clotted with dry blood came away from his skin. Or rather, his flesh, to be more exact. He saw Sonia turn away from the sight and grip the edge of the desk for support.
“Is it that bad?” he asked the doctor, looking up at him, worry transpiring through his voice.
“It looks ugly,” the doctor replied calmly while he examined and rebandaged the wound. “It doesn’t seem the bullet touched the bone or any major blood vessels, which is our most concern. On a first impression, I’d say you’ll be as good as new in a couple of weeks,
signore
Coriola. But you’ll have an ugly scar here,” he went on, adjusting his spectacles.
Relief washed through him and he laid his head on the backrest. He felt all the tension suddenly gone from his body, as the drug the nurse had injected into his arm take effect. He didn’t care if the doctor understood English as he told Sonia, “Screw the scar! Looks like I’ll live,
cara
.”
* * * *
“He hasn’t spoken a single word,” Chief Commissioner Romano was telling them the next morning, as they sat in the small hospital room. Giovanni hadn’t wanted to stay in the hospital overnight, but Sonia and the doctor had been vehement about it.
They had treated his wound, and given him painkillers and antibiotics to prevent infection. His condition was far from serious, but he’d lost enough blood to make the doctor order a drip for him and at least two days of hospital care.
Sonia and Giovanni had been placed in a two-bed small room—since she’d refused to leave him alone. A nurse had given her a sedative, and both she and Giovanni had been stuffed with hospital food. Sonia was aware that having even this little privacy in a public health institution was a luxury. While she used to despise people that used their name or position to get preferential treatment, she was grateful for it now. She and Giovanni had been through a terrible ordeal and needed a night of rest, feeling relatively safe in this protected environment.
Lucia had dropped by the past night to bring them food, clothes and toiletries. When Sonia called Paolo the day before and told him what had happened, he and his wife had immediately gone to the house and stayed there to assist the police as they proceeded with their investigation. They’d also arranged to replace the broken window, although it hadn’t been easy to find someone who would come on Christmas day. The other couple’s concern and support was moving, comforting, making Sonia feel they were not alone.
Now she was holding Giovanni’s hand while he lay in bed and listened to the news the chief of police brought. Romano went on, speaking in accented English—no doubt for her benefit.
“His fingerprints are burnt. We’re working with the Interpol in identifying him by his face. We also contacted
Commissario
Alberto in Rome to see if we can link this incident to the break-in you had at the hotel. Alberto sent us the images caught on the security cameras in the
Sontuoso
. We matched them against this guy’s profile and the bone structure is similar, even though he might have been wearing a disguise when he broke into your suite there. The probability that it’s the same individual is high. The ballistic report confirms the bullet was fired with the Beretta rifle found in his possession. He used 223 Rem FMJ ammunition—one that has very high speed and a smaller deforming factor. The bullet we extracted from the wall had deformed when penetrating the window. That’s why your shoulder wound is so wide, despite the fact that the bullet only grazed you,” he addressed Giovanni. “If it touched an artery or bone, the damage would have been utterly extensive.”
Sonia listened quietly to the Commissioner’s detailed report, feeling herself go pale at his last statement. She’d been so close to losing the person whom she loved most in her life, she thought, her stomach tightening even more in anxiety. And why? Who was this mysterious man and why did he want to hurt them?
She was about to voice those questions to Romano, when he spoke again in his authoritarian, matter-of-fact tone. She sat quietly and listened to him, studying his square jaw and gray hair. His dark coat was too short for his tall, bulky frame, and his blue eyes looked like they could break steel.
“At this point, there’s no proof the man didn’t act on his own. I could try to arrange for permanent police protection for you and Miss Galsworthy, but since we have the guy in custody…”
He left the sentence unfinished, shrugging his massive shoulders almost apologetically.
Giovanni shifted in his bed, turning on one side to favor his bandaged shoulder.
“No worries,” he told Romano. “I’ll hire private security.”
“The man is either a professional or a fanatic. For now, he’s keeping silent. Hasn’t even told us his name. But we’ll break him sooner or later, I have no doubt,” Romano went on, and something in his eyes told Sonia he would, by any means—fair or foul. “My guess would be that he’s got some special training, probably military. In any case, this isn’t an ordinary guy. The fact that you caught him was great luck on your side and unexpected sloppiness on his.”
The attacker had defiled not only their life and intimacy, but also their home and their sense of security. That, Sonia would not forgive. She’d been dead serious when she’d told Giovanni she wanted to kill the guy. But if she had, they would never know the truth, never feel safe again. To live under constant supervision and protection was hell, the worst faith she could imagine. They had to know the truth.
“How long do you think it will take you to find out who he is, or to make him talk?” she asked Romano, still holding Giovanni’s hand, sitting on the edge of his bed.
“That depends. It may take hours, days, even weeks, Miss Galsworthy. If he is indeed a professional, he hid his traces well. But as long as he exists, he has to be registered somewhere, in some database. If we can’t fingerprint him, at least we have his face, his DNA. Sooner or later we’ll identify him. I’m going to interview him personally again today, and try to get something out of him.”
He hesitated, and then stood.
“I’m sorry I don’t have yet more to give you,
signore
Coriola. We have a guard here at the door. Please, when you go home, arrange immediately for private security, 24/7. Then call me and give me the details.”
“I will. Thank you,
Commissario,
” Giovanni said and shook the man’s hand. “Call us as soon as you know anything else, even if it seems insignificant.”
“Of course. Have a quick recovery. Miss Galsworthy.” With a short nod to Sonia, he turned and left the room.
Sonia supported her elbow on her knees, plowing her fingers through her hair. Fatigue and a night of restless sleep interrupted by frequent pauses had left her eyes gritty. All her muscles ached, but she couldn’t complain. It was a minor discomfort compared to what her lover had gone through and was still fighting.
She turned her head to look at him, still overcome by so many fears and emotions. She couldn’t imagine how she’d managed to react so swiftly yesterday, to stay on her feet and steel herself to bandage his wound, to face their attacker. Then followed the trip to the hospital, the questioning, the paperwork.
She could have lost him, she told herself again, looking at his scruffy face. He wasn’t so pale now, but wasn’t looking quite fit either. His eyes were shadowed and his lips were slightly cracked, dried during the night, probably from the medication.
She reached out to touch them and he took her hand, kissing her fingertips, his dark gaze locked on hers.
“You’re the bravest and strongest woman I know,
cara
, you know that?” he said, pulling her down next to him on the small bed, making her curl against his chest. He was dressed in a silly hospital thing, which left his arms bare.
They’d taken out his drip, but she knew she would always have that image in her head—his soft flesh pierced by the needle through which liquid dripped into his veins. Her phobia for doctors and hospitals had taken new dimensions last night. It had been a nightmare to lie in that bed, when she knew across from her Giovanni was fighting pain. Every second spent in this place was agony, but she wouldn’t leave him here alone. She would die first.
Even as she thought this, she snorted out a humorless laugh.
“Brave? Strong?” she said in derision. “I feel like falling apart every time I look at you, Giovanni. Every time I remember what happened, I just…”
“But you
didn’t
fall apart. You pulled yourself together, patched me up and got right back on your feet.”
“Yeah, hiding behind the desk. You’ve no idea how much I loathe myself for doing that,” she told him, not realizing until now just how much that fact gnawed at her.
Giovanni took her chin in firm fingers and angled her head back so she would look at him.
“That, Sonia, was perhaps the first time in your life when you obeyed me—your man. Is that what’s bothering you?”
“Hell no! I hid like a coward, that’s what’s bothering me!”
“You hid like a smart woman who laid a trap, because I told you to do it. If you hadn’t listened to me, we would probably both be dead right now. Would that have been smarter and braver?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly. But—”
“No but,” he interrupted, smoothing the frown-line between her eyebrows. “I know it’s hard, baby, but stop thinking back to what happened. Let’s just think forward.”
“That’s even more depressing,” she said, resting her head on his chest again, hearing the desperation in her own voice. “What are we going to do? Live with armed bodyguards for the rest of our lives? Look over our shoulders forever, in case a mad man is still hunting us? I don’t understand!” she exploded in frustration. “Who is this man? What does he want from us? Whom did we piss off so badly they would want to kill us, Giovanni?”
“I don’t know,
cara
,” he replied on a sigh, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “But I swear to you we will find out. This won’t be finished until we have all the answers, and whoever has started it will pay.”
Chapter Eighteen
Two days before New Year’s Eve, Giovanni sat in the study at his desk. The floor had been cleaned, as had the entire house, but the memories would not be wiped as easily as the blood on the carpet. Nor would his wound be patched up as quickly as the bullet hole in the living room, where Paolo had done a great job covering it. It still pained him a lot and his shoulder was still stiff and sore.
What bothered him the most was the fact that there still hadn’t been any breaks in the investigation. The man who’d attempted to kill him and probably Sonia was still in police custody, but hadn’t spoken a word. They hadn’t yet managed to identify him. On top of that, due to the holidays, things were moving even slower than usual.
So the bastard had managed not only to compromise their peace and safety, but had even spoiled their first holiday season together. One more thing he will have to pay for, Giovanni thought, putting down the phone after his discouragingly brief conversation with Romano. In so many words, they had zilch.
He’d hired the same security firm he’d contracted for his office building. Ten guards took day and night shifts, patrolling the entire perimeter of their property, making sure they were safe every minute and no intruder was in sight.
Despite all this, he felt only marginally safe. There was something unfinished in this whole business. Something that gave him an eerie feeling, which raised the hair on the back of his neck whenever he stopped to think about it. And it wasn’t his own safety he was worried about, but Sonia’s.
The changes in her were visible, making it obvious how affected she was by the situation, although she tried to hide it. But she had nightmares, and in the night she clung to him haunted by dreams, sometimes releasing the cries trapped in her throat. He had brought her here, to Italy. And even though he knew it was stupid, he blamed himself for the danger she’d been placed in.
If someone had a grudge against him, he could have dealt with it. But when he thought of the woman he loved being threatened, terrified and traumatized, a murderous rage boiled in his blood. The need to act, combined with the incapacity to do anything, drove him mad with frustration and impatience.
He stood, looking out the window, gently rolling his injured shoulder. Sonia was pushing painkillers on him every time she remembered. Behind her back, he tried to dodge the pills at every turn, because they made his head muzzy and he couldn’t think clearly.
He spotted two of the guards walking around the backyard. He caught sight of another one, hidden among the trees. They were all armed and alert—men with special training, whom he had requested personally.
That made him feel only marginally better though. He simply couldn’t stand this situation any longer. It felt like a house arrest.
He turned away from the window and crossed the room, looking down at the place where, only days ago, he and Sonia had literally crawled for their lives. Even if his blood wasn’t still on the carpet and wooden floor, he would see it for a long time in his memories.
His breath came out in a gust and he banished the image from his mind, closing the study door behind him. He could hear Sonia and Lucia downstairs in the kitchen, talking in a mix of Italian and English.
As he descended the stairs, Guccio came to greet him, cheerfully waving his tail. Giovanni rubbed his furry ears, then let the dog lick his hands, in love and absolute devotion.
He entered the kitchen with Guccio following him. Lucia was doing the dishes, while Sonia sat at the table nursing a cup of coffee. She wore a black sweater that made her look even paler, emphasizing the purplish circles under her eyes.
When she saw him she looked up, her gaze brightening somewhat. The smile stretching her lips didn’t quite reach her eyes, though she forced herself to appear cheerful.
“Hey, what’s up, darling?” she asked, scraping back her chair and going to put her arms around him. “How are you feeling?”
God bless her, she had completely exasperated him with that question. He knew and fully appreciated her care and concern, but her asking him that every few hours drove him nuts. If she expected his condition to improve by the hour, she was in for a big disappointment.
Still, he pasted a smile on his face, wrapping his good arm around her waist.
“Much better,
cara
,” he lied. “In fact, I want us to go out. Remember we have a Christmas gift exchange planned for New Year’s Eve? What do you say we go out and spend some money?” he suggested, winking at Lucia, who smiled indulgently at them.
Sonia looked hesitant, but a hint of excitement sparkled in her eyes for the first time in days. She glanced up at him, and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I would love to go out,” she said. “But…do you think it’s safe? I mean…have you talked to Commissioner Romano?”
“I did, just now. There’s nothing new,” he replied, letting out a breath. “The guy is still not speaking, but Romano is confident they’ll get a break soon. It’s the holidays, baby. Everyone’s enthusiasm and motivation is a bit worn out these days. I’m sure that, when things get back to their normal schedule, the investigation will see some progress. Now, go and get dressed,” he told her and kissed her cheek. “Let’s have some fun.”
“How about you? Don’t you want to change?”
He looked down at his jeans and blue sweater, then shrugged.
“I’m fine. I’ll have plenty of time to return to starched suits when the year begins,” he joked, ushering her toward the door.
When she left, he sat sipping her coffee. Lucia approached the table with a pot of coffee in her hand.
“Let me pour you some fresh coffee,
signore
,” she said, proceeding to do just that.
“Thank you, Lucia.”
“It’s good that you’re going out. You need to get away from the house for a while.”
“Yeah. I’m so sorry to have ruined your Christmas, by the way. I didn’t have the chance to tell you and Paolo that. Both of you were great, such a big help for us,” he remarked, looking up at her with apology in his eyes.
“Nonsense. How can you say such a thing?” she replied, turning to look at him, her thin face alive with earnest concern. “You didn’t ruin our Christmas. You needed us and I’m only sorry we could not help more. You are always so kind to us,
signore.
There is nothing that my husband and I wouldn’t do for you and for
signorina
Sonia.”
He smiled at her, warmed and pleased by her words. Although the couple hadn’t been working for him for more than a few months, a family-like bond had already formed between them.
“Thank you, Lucia. It’s very sweet of you to say that, and I know you mean it,” he told her and got to his feet, squeezing her shoulders in a half-hug. “Get Paolo and go home, get some rest. Sonia and I will be out for the day.”
Remembering something, he patted his jeans pockets.
“Damn, I forgot my cell phone in the study.”
“Do you want me to bring it?” Lucia offered.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll go up myself. I have to take my jacket and wallet anyway. Go home,” he prompted again and quickly kissed her cheek, making her blush like a girl.
He climbed the stairs, noticing with deep frustration he was a bit winded when he reached the study door. His phone was on the table and, to his surprise, it started ringing just as he was tucking it into his pocket.
He looked at the display, but didn’t recognize the number. Cautious and somewhat irritated, he answered.
“
Pronto.
”
“
Signore
Coriola?” a male voice asked in upper class Italian.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“This is Niccolo Marco, the director of the Institute for Cancer Research in Rome. We had a meeting last week, do you remember?”
Giovanni relaxed, propping a hip on the corner of the desk.
“Of course,
signore
Marco. What can I do for you?”
Marco sounded hesitant—far from the self-assured man Giovanni remembered.
“Well, I am sorry to disturb you, but…I have to talk to you regarding a very urgent matter.”
“Yes? Is this about the discussion we had about my brother-in-law and his cancer treatments?”
“Yes, it is. I…” Marco took an audible breath and went on, in a more determined tone. “
Signore
Coriola, I was contacted this morning by a person who asked me not to help you. In fact, this person demanded I do all that is in my power to stop your brother-in-law from coming here and patenting his treatments.”
The blunt statement took Giovanni aback. He didn’t expect anything of the kind, and his own voice seemed stunned and strained when he asked, “Who is this person, Mister Marco? And what interest does he or she have in this matter?”
“I am not sure about the interest he has to demand such a thing of me, but I assume you should know more about it, since it is someone you know very well.”
“Who?” Giovanni asked again, impatiently twisting a pen through his fingers, without actually being aware of the action.
Marco cleared his throat.
“Tony Barella. Your sister’s ex-husband.”
The pen froze between his fingers. Giovanni couldn’t believe he’d heard correctly, so he asked the man to repeat his last statement.
“It is true,” Marco said, his tone firmer now. “Tony Barella came to my office today. He threatened that if I gave you and your family any assistance in putting Gerard Leon’s cancer treatment on the market, he would…”
He stopped, swallowing audibly, then started again.
“Barella knows something that could ruin me. He threatened to expose me to the media if I didn’t comply with his request.”
The pen broke in Giovanni’s clenched fist, but he didn’t notice. Rage stormed through him in hot, murderous waves, and he felt his jaw go rigid with fury. So now the pieces of the puzzle were sliding into place. Tony had been sabotaging Gerard all along, creating obstacles to impede his progress. And he’d probably done it just for spite, because Linda had left him and found her happiness next to a good man.
Still, it was unbelievable that louse Barella could have so much influence and an arm long enough to reach England. How could he make so much trouble? By blackmailing other people? People with power, who didn’t have Marco’s balls and had gone along with his game, for fear of the repercussions? Or for other reasons? Gerard’s theory about a worldwide conspiracy was even more credible now.
Suddenly suspicious, he asked Marco, “Why are you telling me this? Why aren’t you afraid of Tony exposing your secret, whatever it is?”
Marco hissed out a breath. To Giovanni it seemed half resigned, half relief.
“I have a lot to lose if Barella goes to the press with what he has on me, yes. But if I do as he asks, I could never look myself in the mirror again. To me, it would be like selling my soul to the Devil,
signore.
And I can’t live with that. I have dedicated all my life to research against this terrible disease. I have lost family and friends to it, and fought it with all the weapons I could devise. If someone could have saved my loved ones, but would have chosen to save his reputation instead, I’d say that man does not deserve to live.”
He paused for a moment, and when he resumed, Giovanni detected a philosophical melancholy in his voice.
“Even if my life depended on this, it’s just one life. One life sacrificed for thousands of others. In the grand scheme of things, I think it would be worth the exchange. Don’t you?”
Giovanni looked at the pieces of the pen. Some of the shards were still embedded in the flesh of his palm, now crossed by tiny scratches lined with blood. A tide of purposeful calm descended over him—the kind of calm that precedes a dangerous and powerful storm. He knew now what he had to do.
“I think you are a good man,
signore
Marco,” he said into the receiver, looking out the window, his eyes cold as steel. “I appreciate very much that you called to tell me about this. As I told you during our meeting, someone—whom I now know to be Tony Barella—has been sabotaging Gerard’s work for a long time. That spiteful action has cost lives, destroyed families, shattered hopes. But I promise you that will end today.” After a beat he added, “What Tony is blackmailing you with is your own business. It’s noble and altruistic of you to risk sacrificing your reputation for the sake of others. I doubt you will be judged so harshly after people learn about this, no matter what you did before. But I promise you I will do all that is in my power to prevent that bastard from betraying your privacy.”
Marco laughed softly, humorlessly.
“It is kind of you to say this. Now that I told you, it doesn’t seem so important anymore. I thought about resigning from the institute to avoid it being implicated in a scandal, but…”
“Don’t. The institute needs people like you,
signore
Marco. I will deal with Tony Barella, you have my word. Thank you again for this valuable information.”
He put the phone down and supported himself using both hands on the desk, breathing deeply. He had to think, not unleash this fierce blaze of anger irrationally. Not yet. He had to go to Rome. Today.