Chapter 1 - THE WIFE HE LEFT BEHIND|
At eleven forty-six, the ambulance doors slammed shut, and Roman Ferrara climbed inside without asking permission from the paramedics.
Evelyn lay strapped to the stretcher, an oxygen mask covering her mouth. Her eyes were closed, but her fingers clutched the edge of the hospital folder as if someone might steal it from her. Every few seconds, her chest tightened with a shallow, frightening struggle for air.
Roman had seen men die without blinking. He had watched enemies beg, watched traitors confess, and watched his own father draw his final breath in a room full of people too frightened to cry.
None of it had prepared him for the sight of his wife fighting for something as simple as a breath.
“What's wrong with her?” he demanded.
The paramedic, a woman with tired eyes and silver hair, adjusted the oxygen line.
“Her airway is severely compromised. She needs a hospital immediately. Has she been receiving treatment?”
Roman looked at Evelyn.
He couldn't remember the last time he had asked her whether she had seen a doctor.
“I'm her husband.”
“That wasn't my question.”
The words struck harder than they should have.
“I don't know,” he admitted.
The paramedic's expression changed, but she didn't waste time judging him. She turned back to Evelyn and instructed her to remain still.
Roman reached for his wife's hand.
Her fingers were cold.
“Evelyn, can you hear me?”
Her eyelids fluttered.
For one brief moment, he saw recognition. Then came something far worse: fear.
She tried to pull her hand away.
“Don't,” she whispered through the mask.
Roman froze.
“Don't what?”
“Please don't make this harder.”
The ambulance accelerated through the wet streets of Chicago.
He wanted to tell her that he wasn't going to let anything happen to her. He wanted to promise that he would fix everything. But every reassuring sentence that formed in his mind sounded like a lie.
For eighteen months, he had treated his marriage as an obligation that could be postponed indefinitely. Business came first. Security came first. The family name came first.
Evelyn had learned to stop asking him to come home for dinner.
She had learned to celebrate birthdays alone.
She had even stopped leaving the bedroom light on when he traveled.
And now she was lying beside him, apologizing for being sick.
At Mercy General, a medical team rushed her through the emergency entrance. Roman followed until a nurse stopped him outside the treatment area.
“Are you family?”
“Her husband.”
“Then wait here. We'll need her medical history.”
He handed over the folder.
The nurse opened it, and her expression became grave.
“This says she sustained serious inhalation injuries during an industrial fire two years ago.”
“Pier 14.”
The nurse glanced up.
“You know about the accident?”
“I was there.”
“No,” Roman corrected himself. “I was injured there.”
He had been unconscious when firefighters pulled him from the warehouse. When he woke three days later, Vanessa Rossi had been sitting beside his bed, her hand wrapped around his.
She had told him that she had dragged him away from the flames.
She had told him that Evelyn had panicked and abandoned the scene.
She had told him that he owed his life to Vanessa.
And Roman, drugged, traumatized, and desperate to believe someone, had accepted her story.
The nurse turned another page.
“Mrs. Ferrara appears to have missed several follow-up appointments. There are notes about worsening symptoms, but the last recorded visit was months ago.”
Roman stared at the dates.
Months ago.
He remembered that period. Evelyn had asked him for money to see a specialist. He had been preparing for a dangerous negotiation and had accused her of inventing medical problems to force him home.
He had transferred a small amount to her account and told her not to bother him again.
The nurse closed the folder.
“Someone should have taken this seriously.”
Roman couldn't answer.
Across the corridor, Dante arrived with Roman's blue legal folder still beneath his arm.
“Boss, the house is secure. Claudia wants to know whether you're coming back tonight.”
Roman looked at the divorce papers.
“Burn them.”
Dante hesitated.
“Sir?”
“I said burn them.”
Then Roman noticed something tucked behind the hospital report: a folded sheet bearing his own signature.
It was a release transferring ownership of Evelyn's father's workshop to the Ferrara estate.
He remembered signing it without reading the details. Vanessa had explained that the workshop was a liability and that Evelyn had agreed to the arrangement.
But the signature was dated six months after the Pier 14 fire.
Beneath it, someone had written a short note in Evelyn's handwriting.
If Roman ever remembers what happened that night, please let him know I tried.
Roman read the sentence twice.
A door opened at the end of the corridor. A physician approached, removing his gloves.
“Mr. Ferrara?”
Roman rose.
“Is my wife going to survive?”
The doctor studied him for a moment.
“We're doing everything we can. But I need to ask you something. Why was a patient with documented airway damage left alone in a cold vestibule without immediate access to medical care?”
Roman looked down at his hands.
For the first time in years, the most feared man in his world had no answer.
And somewhere in his mansion, the woman who had supposedly saved his life was probably pouring herself another glass of champagne.
Roman took out his phone.
“Dante.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Find out everything that happened at Pier 14. Every report. Every witness. Every missing page.”
May you like
He looked through the glass toward the treatment room.
“And don't tell Vanessa Rossi we're investigating.”
