Chapter 11 - The Woman Behind the Locked Door|
Salvatore wanted to go alone.
I refused to let him.
“Someone has sent you a photograph of a woman who may or may not be Isabella. They have already attacked Voss. Walking into a trap without a plan would be reckless.”
“I'm familiar with traps.”
“Apparently not the kind that involve your own family.”
He gave me a hard look.
“Doctor, your talent for irritating powerful men is remarkable.”
“It's a professional skill.”
Rocco traced the photograph's background to a disused private clinic outside the city. The building had once belonged to a medical charity before it was sold to a holding company with no public office.
We went with a small team and contacted local authorities before approaching the property. Salvatore disliked involving outsiders, but he kept his promise to me: no one would be harmed unless there was an immediate threat.
The clinic stood behind a rusted fence. Most windows were boarded up, and weeds had grown through the cracked parking lot.
A light shone in the second-floor window.
“Someone is inside,” Rocco whispered.
We entered through the main door. The building smelled of dust, disinfectant, and damp plaster. A hallway led to several empty examination rooms.
At the end, we found a steel door with a keypad.
A note had been taped to it.
DR. RUSSO, YOU KNOW HOW TO OPEN A LOCKED MOUTH. OPEN THIS ONE.
I stared at the words.
“This is meant for me.”
Salvatore looked toward the keypad.
“Can you open it?”
“I'm a dentist, not a locksmith.”
The door clicked.
It opened from the inside.
A woman stood behind it, thin and pale, with dark hair streaked by gray. Her eyes widened when she saw Salvatore.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she whispered his name.
“Salvatore.”
He took one step forward.
“Isabella?”
The woman began to cry.
He reached for her, but she flinched.
That tiny movement hurt him more than any wound.
“Why?” he asked. “Why did you let me believe you were dead?”
“I didn't know what else to do.”
“You could have told me the truth.”
“They would have killed you.”
“Who?”
Isabella looked past him at the hallway.
“Not here.”
We moved into a small room with a table, two chairs, and a camera pointed toward the door. Rocco disconnected it, and Salvatore insisted that Isabella receive a medical examination. She agreed only after I promised to remain with her.
She was dehydrated and exhausted, but she had no obvious life-threatening injury. Once she had water and a blanket, she began to speak.
“The harbor attack wasn't supposed to happen that night,” she said. “Someone changed the schedule. The shipment was moved forward by three hours, and the security team was told to take a different route.”
Salvatore listened without blinking.
“Who changed it?”
“I never learned the name. But I saw the paperwork. It carried a signature from the family office.”
“Carmine?”
“I thought so. Then I found another copy with a different signature.”
“Whose?”
Isabella reached into her coat and produced a folded piece of paper.
Salvatore opened it.
His face drained of color.
I looked at the signature.
It belonged to Vittorio Lombardi, Salvatore and Carmine's father.
“Your father?” I whispered.
Salvatore shook his head slowly.
“My father died ten years ago.”
Isabella nodded.
“I know. But this document was dated two weeks before the harbor attack.”
“That doesn't prove he was involved,” I said.
“No,” she replied. “But it proves someone used his name to authorize the shipment change.”
Salvatore examined the paper.
“Who else saw this?”
“My mother. Your father. And the man who built the device.”
“The supplier?”
Isabella nodded.
“He was supposed to meet me at the harbor that night. Instead, he sent someone else.”
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“Your father.”
My heart seemed to stop.
“Dad was at the harbor?”
“He came to warn me. He said the plan had changed and that someone inside the Lombardi family wanted Salvatore dead.”
Salvatore's eyes burned.
“Why didn't he come to me?”
“Because he believed the person giving orders was standing beside you.”
She took a shaky breath.
“Lena, your father didn't hide the metal component to protect himself. He hid it because it could prove who gave the order.”
Before I could ask where it was, a phone rang from the next room.
Isabella went rigid.
“That's impossible.”
“What?” Salvatore asked.
She backed toward the wall.
“That number was only supposed to be used by one person.”
The phone rang again.
Salvatore answered it.
A man's voice came through, calm and familiar.
“Hello, son.”
May you like
Salvatore froze.
It was his father's voice.
