Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO CONTROLLED HIS MEDICINE
Dante Moretti had survived an explosion that killed four men.
He remembered the heat.
The sound.
The violent pressure that lifted him from the pavement.
Then nothing.
When he woke in a private hospital, Victor Hale was sitting beside his bed.
Victor told him the doctors had saved his life.
He told him there was permanent damage.
He told him the headaches, exhaustion, and confusion might never disappear.
And Dante believed him.
Because Victor had been his father's closest adviser.
Because Victor had carried him through the worst years of the Moretti family's violent history.
Because trust was easier than admitting that the strongest man in Chicago had become dependent on someone else.
That evening, Dante stood before the bathroom mirror.
He turned his head.
Lifted his hair.
The raised spot sat just below the hairline.
He could see part of it in the mirror.
A tiny pale oval.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing that obviously explained three years of misery.
He touched it.
A sharp sensation traveled down his neck.
He withdrew his hand.
Then remembered Sophie's drawing.
Six lines.
A shiny center.
And Victor's expression.
The next morning, Dante summoned Dr. Elias Mercer, his private physician.
Mercer arrived carrying his usual black medical bag.
Victor entered behind him.
Dante looked at both men.
“I want new imaging.”
Mercer hesitated.
“Of what?”
“My neck.”
Victor sighed.
“Dante, we've discussed this.”
Dante looked at him.
“I wasn't speaking to you.”
Silence.
Mercer cleared his throat.
“The fragment is stable.”
“Then imaging should confirm that.”
Victor stepped forward.
“Repeated scans aren't necessary.”
Dante's eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because your symptoms are neurological.”
“Then I want an independent neurologist.”
Victor smiled tightly.
“Of course. I'll arrange someone.”
“No.”
Dante stood.
“I'll arrange it.”
Later that afternoon, Anna was called into Victor's office.
She entered with her hands clasped.
Victor sat behind the desk.
“Your daughter caused a disturbance.”
Anna swallowed.
“I'm sorry.”
“She touched Mr. Moretti.”
“I know.”
“That's unacceptable.”
Anna nodded.
“It won't happen again.”
Victor studied her.
Then said:
“You're a single mother, correct?”
Anna's stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
“And this position pays for your daughter's schooling.”
“Yes.”
He leaned back.
“Then I suggest you teach her when to remain silent.”
Anna looked down.
But inside, something hardened.
Sophie was five.
She hadn't stolen anything.
She hadn't lied.
She'd noticed something strange.
And a powerful man was threatening her mother because of it.
Anna lifted her chin.
“My daughter won't approach Mr. Moretti again.”
Victor smiled.
“Good.”
Anna paused.
“But I won't teach her that telling the truth is wrong.”
Victor's smile disappeared.
“Be careful, Mrs. Miller.”
Anna met his eyes.
“I am.”
Then she left.
That evening, Sophie sat at the kitchen table in the staff cottage.
She was coloring a picture of a butterfly.
Anna watched her.
“Sweetheart?”
Sophie looked up.
“Yes, Mommy?”
“Why did you say the bug was looking at you?”
Sophie frowned.
“Because it had a little black dot.”
Anna felt cold.
“Where?”
“In the middle.”
Sophie tapped her drawing.
“Like an eye.”
Anna stared at the paper.
May you like
Then whispered:
“Oh, God.”
