Chapter 5 - The Clinic They Tried to Destroy|
I insisted on returning to my clinic.
Salvatore insisted on sending two guards with me.
We compromised by taking one car and having Rocco wait outside while I checked the building. I told myself I was doing it for my patients, although the truth was simpler: I needed to see something familiar before the Lombardi family's secrets swallowed me whole.
The moment I unlocked the clinic door, I knew something was wrong.
The waiting-room chairs had been overturned. My appointment books were scattered across the floor. The cabinet where my father kept old patient files stood open, and papers lay everywhere.
Someone had broken in.
I hurried to the treatment room.
My father's framed dental license had been knocked from the wall. The glass was shattered, and the photograph of him standing outside the clinic had been ripped down the middle.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
“They weren't looking for money,” I whispered.
Salvatore stood in the doorway, his expression hardening as he surveyed the damage.
“What did they take?”
I checked the drawers, the computer, and the locked cabinet where I kept confidential records. Nothing obvious was missing.
Then I noticed the bottom drawer of my father's desk was open.
Inside had been his personal notebooks—years of appointment reminders, equipment orders, and handwritten observations. Most were still there.
One was missing.
A small red notebook.
I had never considered it important. Dad had used it to record dental supply orders and occasional reminders. But he'd kept it locked away, and when I was younger, he'd once told me never to throw it out.
“Did your father treat anyone connected to the Lombardis?” Salvatore asked.
“I don't know. He treated half this town. He never asked patients about their business.”
“Did he ever mention the harbor shooting?”
“No.”
I searched the desk again and found a torn slip of paper beneath a drawer runner. It contained a handwritten date—the date of the harbor ambush—and a series of numbers.
Salvatore studied it.
“Coordinates?”
“Or a patient number.”
I looked closer. The handwriting was my father's.
My heart began to race.
“Why would Dad write down the date of your shooting?”
Before Salvatore could answer, my phone rang.
The caller ID showed my landlord.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Dr. Russo,” he said, “we have a problem. Someone made an offer to purchase your lease and all the equipment inside the clinic. They want you out by tomorrow.”
“I have a lease.”
“They're offering enough to cover the penalties.”
“I don't want to sell.”
“They said you'd change your mind.”
I hung up, shaking with anger.
When I returned, Salvatore was examining the torn paper.
“Someone wants your clinic closed,” he said.
“Someone wants me frightened.”
“Those are often the same thing.”
“I won't let them win.”
His eyes settled on mine.
“Good.”
He called Rocco and ordered the clinic secured, but I stopped him.
“No threats. No broken kneecaps. I want this handled legally.”
Salvatore looked almost offended.
“I don't always solve problems with violence.”
“Your guards carry enough weapons to invade a small country.”
“That's for emergencies.”
“Apparently, every hallway is an emergency.”
For the first time that morning, he smiled.
Then Rocco's phone rang.
He listened, and his expression changed.
“Boss, the landlord has already signed a preliminary agreement. The buyer used a shell company.”
“Find the owner.”
“We have a name.”
Rocco turned his phone toward Salvatore.
The company belonged to a holding group controlled by Carmine.
Salvatore said nothing.
I felt the last pieces of my life shifting beneath my feet.
“Why would your brother want my clinic?” I asked.
Salvatore looked at the torn paper in my hand.
“Because your father may have known something about the harbor attack.”
He turned to Rocco.
“Find out what Dr. Russo's father was doing eight years ago.”
Then he looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something more frightening than anger in his eyes.
“Lena, if your father was connected to that night, someone may have spent years waiting for you to discover it.”
My phone vibrated again.
May you like
A message appeared from an unknown number.
STOP LOOKING FOR THE RED NOTEBOOK. YOUR FATHER DIED KEEPING IT HIDDEN.
