Chapter 3 - THE NIGHT I WAS SHOT
I remembered the gunshot in pieces.
Cold air.
Diesel fumes.
Harbor lights reflected on black water.
Dominic walking three steps behind me.
My security man Carlo opening the SUV door.
Then a crack.
Not like movies.
Smaller.
Sharper.
My body folded before I understood why.
Another shot hit the vehicle.
Men yelled.
Carlo fired back.
Dominic dragged me behind a concrete barrier.
I remembered his hands covered in my blood.
“Stay with me, Vin.”
I had.
Now I wondered why.
Detective Lena Ortiz reopened questions quietly after Evelyn found the Blackwater transfer.
She came to the house.
“You think Dominic arranged it?”
“I think he prepared for me being unable to stop him.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“I know.”
She studied me.
“You don't like not knowing.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Men like you are dangerous when you're certain.”
I almost smiled.
“What do you need?”
“Everything.”
Security schedules.
Vehicle logs.
Phone records.
Harbor access.
Dominic's meetings.
Arya's movements.
For the first time in my adult life, I voluntarily gave a detective access to records my father would have burned before letting police touch.
That night Tessa found me staring at an old photograph.
Dominic and me at seventeen.
My father between us.
“You look happy.”
“We were stupid.”
“Same thing at seventeen.”
I handed her the picture.
“Dominic once broke a kid's nose because he insulted me.”
“Heartwarming.”
“He was twelve.”
“Less heartwarming.”
I smiled.
Then she sat.
Not too close.
“You think he had something to do with the shooting.”
“Maybe.”
“You want him to.”
I looked at her.
“Why would I want that?”
“Because betrayal is easier than randomness.”
I said nothing.
“If Dominic did it, then there's a villain.”
She leaned back.
“If it was random, then your life changed because some idiot with a gun made one decision.”
I hated her for that.
Because she was right.
“You always talk this much?”
“I charge by the hour.”
I looked at my legs.
“What if I don't improve?”
She didn't answer quickly.
Another reason I trusted her.
Then:
“Then you build a life that fits the body you have.”
“That sounds depressing.”
“Only because you're treating walking like the only possible version of winning.”
I looked up.
“You ever been paralyzed?”
“No.”
“Then don't lecture me.”
Her face hardened.
“Fair.”
She stood.
“I'll leave.”
“Tessa.”
She stopped.
“Sit.”
“No.”
I almost laughed.
“Please.”
That worked.
She sat again.
“My sister's name is Clara,” she said.
I waited.
“She was supposed to be a dancer.”
I looked at her.
“Kidney disease ended that?”
“Mostly.”
“She okay?”
“Alive.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Tessa looked at the floor.
“She hates when people say she's inspiring.”
I understood instantly.
“Because she doesn't feel inspiring.”
“Because she was sick. She didn't volunteer for a motivational poster.”
I stared at her.
Tessa continued.
“She still dances.”
“With kidney disease?”
“In the kitchen. Badly.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“She says losing the career didn't mean she had to lose music.”
Tessa stood again.
“That's all I was trying to say.”
She left.
I looked at my legs.
For six months, I had measured my life against the man I was before the bullet.
Every difference became failure.
Maybe that was another prison.
The next morning, Ortiz called.
One of my security cameras from the night of the shooting had been disabled fourteen minutes before I arrived at the harbor.
Internal access code.
Only four people knew it.
Me.
Carlo.
Dominic.
And Arya.
Carlo had died three months earlier from a heart attack.
I trusted him.
Dead men are easy to trust.
The other two were suddenly much harder.
Ortiz wasn't finished.
“The shooter received a call twenty minutes before you arrived.”
“From who?”
“Burner.”
“Useful.”
“We traced where the burner was purchased.”
My patience snapped.
“Ortiz.”
She continued calmly.
“Store camera caught the buyer.”
“Who?”
“Not Dominic.”
I waited.
“Arya.”
May you like
Everything inside me went silent.
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