Chapter 2 - THE BROTHER WHO SOLD HIS OWN BLOOD|
Matteo Moretti entered the study without knocking.
At thirty-four, Lorenzo's younger brother possessed the polished appearance of a man who had never worked a day in his life. His charcoal suit fit perfectly, his Italian leather shoes were spotless, and a silver watch gleamed beneath his cuff.
He carried none of the physical resemblance that made Lorenzo's presence intimidating. Matteo was charming, handsome, and practiced at making people feel that they had known him for years.
Abigail immediately disliked his smile.
“Brother,” Matteo said. “I heard there was a disturbance.”
Lorenzo's expression became unreadable.
“Who told you?”
“Vanessa.”
Of course, Abigail thought.
Matteo's eyes moved toward the scattered documents. Then he noticed the gauze wrapper on the tray and the small streak of blood on Lorenzo's shirt.
His smile faded.
“What happened?”
“Ask your future sister-in-law.”
“Former future sister-in-law, if I have anything to say about it,” Lorenzo replied.
Matteo chuckled as if the remark were a joke.
“Still angry. That's encouraging. Vanessa said you were having another episode.”
“What episode?”
“The confusion. The agitation. The memory problems.”
Lorenzo gripped his wheelchair.
“I remember everything.”
“I'm sure you believe that.”
Abigail stepped forward.
“He has shown no signs of cognitive impairment during my shifts. He is alert, oriented, and able to make his own decisions.”
Matteo looked at her as though he had forgotten she existed.
“And you are?”
“Abigail Hayes. His nurse.”
“Ah. The brave little nurse who confronted Vanessa.”
“Someone needed to.”
He smiled again.
“Be careful, Miss Hayes. This family has a complicated history.”
“So does every family. That doesn't excuse abuse.”
For the first time, Matteo's eyes turned cold.
He approached Lorenzo and lowered his voice.
“You're making this difficult for everyone.”
“Good.”
“You know what happens if the board discovers your condition is worsening.”
“My condition isn't worsening.”
“Then sign the papers.”
The room fell silent.
Abigail looked at Matteo.
“You knew about the power of attorney?”
“Of course. I'm helping my brother arrange his affairs.”
“You're helping Vanessa take control of his estate.”
Matteo's expression sharpened.
“You have a remarkable talent for misunderstanding conversations.”
He picked up the document.
Abigail reached for it, but he lifted it beyond her grasp.
“Give that back.”
“Why? Afraid we'll discover something?”
Matteo glanced at the final page. His fingers paused near the signature line.
Then he slipped the document into his briefcase.
“Lorenzo, you should rest. I'll arrange for another nurse tomorrow.”
“No.”
“I'm not asking.”
“And I'm not agreeing.”
Matteo closed his briefcase.
“Your condition gives the family certain responsibilities. We cannot let personal feelings interfere with sensible decisions.”
Abigail stood between the brothers.
“His medical capacity cannot be determined by whichever relative wants control of his money.”
Matteo leaned toward her.
“Do you know what happened to the last employee who interfered in Moretti business?”
“No.”
“She disappeared.”
Lorenzo slammed his hand against the armrest.
“Enough.”
Matteo straightened.
For several seconds, the brothers stared at each other.
Then Matteo adjusted his cuff and walked toward the door.
“Enjoy your evening, Abigail.”
He paused.
“One piece of advice. Never confuse a man's silence with weakness. Sometimes he is simply deciding how much of you he intends to destroy.”
After he left, Abigail locked the study door.
Lorenzo stared at the floor.
“He was the one driving the car,” he said.
Abigail slowly turned.
“What car?”
“The night of the accident.”
His voice had become distant, as though the memory lived somewhere he could barely reach.
“He told the police the brakes failed. He told the newspapers I lost control. He told me he had done everything he could to save me.”
“Do you believe him?”
Lorenzo's eyes lifted.
“I did.”
He swallowed.
“Until I found a photograph in his office six months ago. It showed my car in the garage the morning before the accident. The brake line had already been cut.”
Abigail felt her stomach tighten.
“Did you confront him?”
“I tried.”
“And?”
“He smiled. Then he told me that if I accused him without proof, he would make sure I spent the rest of my life locked in a hospital.”
Abigail moved closer.
“Why didn't you tell the police?”
“Because the detective assigned to my accident was paid by my family.”
“Your family?”
“Matteo's friends. Matteo's money. Matteo's version of the truth.”
Lorenzo looked toward the locked door.
“Vanessa knows, too. She has known from the beginning.”
Abigail's mind raced. The false medical diagnosis, the attempted transfer of authority, the injuries explained away as accidents, and the brother who wanted Lorenzo declared incompetent all formed a pattern too deliberate to ignore.
“I can help you gather evidence.”
“No.”
“Lorenzo—”
“You don't understand. Matteo doesn't threaten people to frighten them. He threatens them to give them a chance to run.”
“I'm not running.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he reached beneath a cushion on his wheelchair and removed a small brass key.
“My father's private archive is beneath the old chapel. Matteo believes I lost the key in the accident.”
Abigail accepted it.
“What is in the archive?”
Lorenzo's voice dropped to a whisper.
“The original will. And a recording of my father explaining exactly why Matteo must never inherit the empire.”
Before Abigail could answer, her phone vibrated.
An unknown number had sent her a photograph.
It showed her mother leaving a rehabilitation clinic that morning.
May you like
Beneath it were six words.
Tell Lorenzo to sign, or she dies.
