Chapter 3 - The Nurses Who Quit
The three nurses had not all quit because Massimo was difficult.
One had.
The second disappeared.
The third had been paid.
I learned that on my sixth day.
Camila pulled personnel records through the staffing agency.
Nurse One, Angela Price, resigned after four days and filed a complaint that Massimo was verbally abusive.
Believable.
Nurse Two, Tessa Morgan, lasted almost three weeks.
Her resignation letter had one sentence.
I am unable to continue for personal reasons.
Then she left Boston.
Nurse Three, Rachel Kim, received a seventy-five-thousand-dollar payment from a consulting company two days after quitting.
The company traced back to an accountant who worked for Luca.
I stared at Camila across the library table.
“Why pay her?”
“That is the question.”
“Can we contact her?”
“I already did.”
“And?”
“She wants immunity.”
“From what?”
Camila smiled without humor.
“Also the question.”
Massimo entered before I could answer.
His wheelchair rolled silently over the rug.
“You two look guilty.”
Camila closed the folder.
“Your ego is not the center of every secret.”
“Most.”
I handed him the file.
He read.
His expression became frighteningly calm.
“Rachel.”
“You remember her?”
“She cried when she quit.”
“Why?”
“She said she couldn’t watch me give up.”
I looked at him.
“Did you?”
“What?”
“Give up?”
His eyes hardened.
“No.”
“Then maybe she wasn’t talking about you.”
That afternoon, Rachel agreed to a video call.
Massimo wanted to join.
I refused.
“It will intimidate her.”
“She worked for me.”
“Exactly.”
Camila backed me.
Massimo hated that.
He still agreed.
Rachel appeared on screen from what looked like a hotel room.
She had cut her hair shorter.
Dark circles under her eyes.
“Elena?”
“Yes.”
“Is he there?”
“No.”
“Is Luca?”
“No.”
She exhaled.
Then said, “I switched the medication.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“Because Luca told me to.”
There it was.
Direct.
Ugly.
Simple.
“What did he ask you to give Massimo?”
“Tizanidine. Later, clonidine.”
“Clonidine?”
“Yes.”
That could explain low blood pressure.
Dizziness.
Sedation.
Reduced therapy tolerance.
“Why did you do it?”
Rachel started crying.
“My brother owed money.”
“To Luca?”
“To men connected to him.”
Camila asked, “Were you threatened?”
“Yes.”
“Paid?”
“Yes.”
Rachel wiped her face.
“I took the money and ran.”
“Did Luca tell you why?”
“He said Massimo needed rest. That if he recovered too fast, he’d make reckless decisions.”
I felt sick.
“Did you believe him?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“I was scared.”
There was no useful answer to fear.
Only consequence.
Rachel continued.
“There’s more.”
Of course.
“Massimo was moving his left foot before I quit.”
I went still.
“How much?”
“Enough that I wanted Kessler to revise the prognosis.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He said it was reflexive.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
I knew she was right.
Voluntary movement has intention.
Timing.
Effort.
Patients know.
Clinicians know.
“Did Luca know?”
“He saw.”
The room felt colder.
“What did he say?”
“He told me never to encourage Massimo with false hope.”
That evening, I told Massimo everything.
He did not explode.
That scared me.
He rolled toward the windows and stared at the grounds.
“Luca was eleven when our father died.”
I waited.
“I raised him.”
That changed the shape of the betrayal.
“He lived in my apartment through college. I paid his tuition. Put him in the legitimate companies because I wanted him away from the street side.”
He laughed once.
“I thought I was saving him.”
I sat in the chair across from him.
“Maybe he thought he was saving you.”
Massimo looked at me.
“You’re defending him?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I’m explaining how people justify terrible things.”
His mouth tightened.
“My own brother drugged me.”
“Yes.”
The word hurt him.
I could see it.
“Why?”
“Power is the obvious answer.”
“Too obvious.”
“I agree.”
“What else?”
“Fear.”
“Of me?”
“Of what happens if you recover.”
Massimo looked toward the desk.
“Tomorrow, I want Luca brought in.”
“No.”
His eyes flashed.
“Elena.”
“Not yet.”
“He poisoned me.”
“He tampered with medication.”
“Do not correct vocabulary while I’m furious.”
“Then don’t make decisions while furious.”
Massimo leaned forward.
“You are very comfortable telling dangerous men no.”
“You pay well.”
That almost broke the tension.
Almost.
We decided to wait forty-eight hours.
During those forty-eight hours, I pushed his rehabilitation harder.
Not recklessly.
Strategically.
Electrical stimulation.
Supported standing.
Hip activation.
Task-specific repetition.
On day eight, Massimo stood inside parallel bars for six seconds.
Mostly arms.
Some legs.
But the knees held.
He stared at me.
I stared at him.
Then he laughed.
Not the brief controlled laugh from our first meeting.
A real one.
“Again.”
We did it again.
Nine seconds.
Then twelve.
I wrote the numbers down.
Massimo wiped sweat from his face.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
I looked up.
“Why?”
“Because if Luca wants me weak, I want him to think he succeeded.”
I hated how logical that was.
“You’re asking me to falsify medical documentation.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking you to keep the rehabilitation notes in a secure clinical file not accessible to family.”
That was acceptable.
Barely.
We created two charts.
The official medical chart stated therapy ongoing, prognosis under reassessment.
My secure progress log contained detailed motor return.
No lies.
Selective access.
I disliked secrets.
But I disliked drugging patients more.
That night, Massimo asked me to stay after therapy.
“Nico found something from the crash.”
He handed me a photograph.
A traffic camera image.
Massimo’s black SUV crushed against a concrete barrier.
Rain.
Emergency lights.
And another vehicle parked thirty yards behind the ambulance.
Luca’s car.
Timestamp:
Six minutes before dispatch records showed Luca arriving.
I looked at Massimo.
“He was already there.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You need to ask him.”
“I will.”
“Not alone.”
Massimo smiled faintly.
“Are you worried about me?”
“I’m worried about my tuition.”
“Liar.”
I ignored that.
Then Nico entered.
His face was grim.
“Boss.”
Massimo turned.
“What?”
“We found Tessa Morgan.”
The second nurse.
The one who disappeared.
Massimo’s expression sharpened.
“Where?”
“Rhode Island.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled.
May you like
Then Nico continued.
“She says she quit because she saw who cut Massimo’s brake line.”
