Chapter 10 - THE VOICE OF A DEAD MAN
Clara woke three days later.
Again.
She was beginning to hate hospitals.
Her first sight was Dominic asleep in a chair beside her bed.
His left arm rested in a sling.
A bandage covered his side beneath his shirt.
Clara watched him for several seconds.
The feared Dominic Rossi slept badly.
His brows remained slightly drawn.
One hand rested near the pistol on the table.
Even unconscious, he looked prepared for betrayal.
Clara shifted.
His eyes opened immediately.
"You're awake."
"So are you."
He stood.
Pain crossed his face.
Clara noticed.
"Sit."
"I'm fine."
"That's my line."
He sat.
She looked around.
"Mom?"
"Next room."
"Alive?"
"Complaining about hospital coffee."
Clara closed her eyes in relief.
"Ray?"
"Alive."
"Enzo?"
"Annoying."
"Isabella?"
"Waiting downstairs."
"Victor?"
Dominic's face hardened.
"Dead."
Clara remembered the boiler room.
Raymond firing.
"Thomas?"
"Alive and under guard."
"Caruso?"
Dominic became very still.
"Alive."
That surprised her.
"You didn't kill him."
"No."
"Why?"
Dominic looked toward the window.
"Because you told me your father chose evidence over revenge."
"I never said that."
"You implied it."
She studied him.
"So you're trying justice?"
"Don't make it sound contagious."
Clara smiled.
Her ribs objected.
She winced.
Dominic leaned forward.
"Pain?"
"Only when breathing, moving, laughing, existing."
"Good."
"Good?"
"You're complaining."
"Your standards for medical recovery are disturbing."
Silence settled.
Clara looked at the ring.
Still there.
Dominic followed her gaze.
"I can remove it."
She didn't answer.
"We made an agreement."
"I remember."
He reached toward her hand.
Clara closed her fingers.
Dominic stopped.
"Not yet."
His eyes met hers.
Clara looked away.
"I don't know what it means yet."
"Then it means nothing."
"That isn't true."
"No?"
"No."
She glanced at him.
"It stopped people from killing me."
"Some people."
"It made your mother cry when she saw it."
"She cries at commercials."
"Isabella Rossi absolutely does not cry at commercials."
"Dog commercials."
Clara smiled.
Then became serious.
"There's something else."
Dominic nodded.
"The recording."
Enzo had recovered Father Thomas's clerical collar from a hotel safe.
Inside the reinforced strip was a micro-storage card.
Michael's recording survived.
Dominic had not listened to it.
He waited for Clara.
Two hours later, Clara sat in a private hospital conference room with Dominic, Ellen, Isabella, Salvatore, Raymond, and Enzo.
No guards inside.
No guns on the table.
Just a small speaker.
Clara pressed play.
Static.
Then Carlo Rossi's voice.
"Michael, you're telling me my own father approved this?"
Clara stopped breathing.
Michael answered.
"Ignazio believes Costa can keep the organization stable."
"This is madness."
"Carlo, listen to me. Thomas arranged the payments. Caruso is coming here tonight."
"Salvatore?"
"Innocent."
A long silence.
Then Carlo spoke.
"I accused my brother."
"You didn't know."
"I put a gun in his face."
"Then apologize when we're alive."
Isabella began crying.
Salvatore covered his mouth.
The recording continued.
Carlo asked, "Where's Isabella?"
"Safe."
"Dominic?"
"Outside."
"Get him away from here."
"I will."
Then a door opened on the recording.
Thomas's voice.
"Michael."
Another voice.
Caruso.
"Carlo."
Carlo cursed.
Gunfire erupted.
Clara flinched.
Dominic did not move.
On the recording, Michael shouted.
Then Carlo groaned.
More shots.
Footsteps.
Caruso said, "Finish Michael."
Thomas answered, "No. Victor wants him alive until we have the ledger."
Then another voice.
Weak.
Carlo.
"Michael..."
Michael rushed closer.
"I'm here."
"My son."
"I'll get Dominic out."
"Promise."
"I promise."
"Tell Isabella..."
Carlo coughed.
"Tell her I was leaving."
Isabella sobbed.
The recording went quiet for several seconds.
Then Carlo whispered his final words.
"Michael saved you."
The recording ended.
No one moved.
Dominic stared at the speaker.
For fourteen years he'd carried three words.
Now he heard the entire truth.
Clara reached across the table.
Placed her hand over his.
Dominic looked at her.
He didn't pull away.
Neither did she.
Caruso confessed two days later.
Not because Dominic threatened him.
Because federal agents arrived with copies of Michael's ledger.
Clara had made the decision.
Dominic objected for exactly nine minutes.
Then he helped.
The ledger implicated judges, officers, politicians, and organized crime figures across several states.
Dominic knew handing it over would damage parts of his own organization.
That was the cost.
Michael's letter had told Clara to judge him when protection cost him something.
Dominic chose her anyway.
Several Rossi accounts were frozen.
Two captains were arrested.
Three politicians resigned within forty-eight hours.
Father Thomas agreed to cooperate in exchange for protection.
Anthony Caruso was charged with Carlo Rossi's murder and multiple conspiracy counts.
For the first time, the past began moving toward consequences.
Not revenge.
Consequences.
Clara watched the news from her hospital bed.
"This is going to hurt you."
Dominic stood beside the window.
"Yes."
"Financially?"
"Yes."
"Politically?"
"Very."
"Your reputation?"
He looked at her.
"Probably improved among prosecutors."
She smiled.
"Why did you do it?"
"Because your father died making copies instead of pulling triggers."
Clara's eyes filled.
Dominic continued.
"I spent most of my life thinking power meant controlling what everyone knew."
He looked at the television.
"Michael understood sometimes the truth is more dangerous than any gun."
Clara stared at him.
"You're changing."
"Don't spread that rumor."
Ellen entered later carrying a cardboard box.
She placed it on Clara's lap.
"What's this?"
"Things your father saved."
Inside were photographs.
Birthday cards.
A baseball ticket.
Clara's first lost tooth in a tiny plastic bag.
She laughed through tears.
Then she found a photograph of herself at five.
She stood in Isabella's garden holding a peach.
Behind her, fifteen-year-old Dominic glared at the camera.
Clara burst out laughing.
"Oh my God."
Dominic, entering the room, stopped.
"No."
Clara held it up.
"You had bangs."
"Destroy that."
"You looked like an angry choirboy."
"Clara."
Ellen laughed.
Dominic attempted to confiscate the photograph.
Clara hid it beneath her blanket.
"Evidence."
"Of what?"
"That you were once awkward."
"I was never awkward."
"You absolutely were."
Ellen smiled at them.
Then her expression became serious.
"There's something I need to tell both of you."
Dominic became alert.
Clara groaned.
"No more secrets."
"This one isn't dangerous."
"That's what everyone says before ruining my week."
Ellen sat.
"Michael left instructions about Bell Star."
Clara remembered the properties.
"The trust."
"Yes."
Ellen looked at her daughter.
"Everything belongs to you."
"I know."
"No."
Her mother shook her head.
"You don't."
She handed Clara a financial statement.
Clara stared at the number.
Then stared again.
"That can't be right."
Dominic looked over her shoulder.
His eyebrow rose.
Bell Star's holdings were not fourteen million dollars.
Not even close.
Through properties, investments, and accounts Michael had quietly built after fleeing New York, the trust was worth approximately one hundred and eighty-six million dollars.
Clara looked at her mother.
"I worked double shifts for years."
Ellen winced.
"I couldn't access the principal without triggering the trust."
"You let me eat ramen for dinner!"
"You needed character."
"Mom!"
Ellen smiled weakly.
"Michael's rule."
Clara looked at Dominic.
He was trying not to laugh.
"Don't."
"I said nothing."
"Your face said plenty."
Clara stared at the statement.
"I'm rich."
Dominic nodded.
"Unfortunately."
"Unfortunately?"
"You already argue with me without money."
Clara threw a pillow.
He caught it.
Ellen burst out laughing.
For one brief moment, the room felt normal.
Then Enzo appeared in the doorway.
His face erased every smile.
"Boss."
Dominic turned.
"What?"
Enzo held an envelope.
"This was delivered downstairs."
"No return address."
Dominic opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
Clara sleeping in her hospital bed.
Taken that morning.
From inside the room.
On the back someone had written:
VICTOR WAS NEVER THE ONLY COSTA.
Dominic looked toward the hallway.
Every instinct returned.
"Lock the floor."
Clara's heart pounded.
Ellen whispered, "What does that mean?"
Raymond appeared behind Enzo.
He saw the photograph.
His face went white.
"Dominic."
"What?"
Raymond looked at Clara.
"Victor had a son."
Silence.
Clara swallowed.
"Who?"
Raymond answered.
"Gabriel Costa."
"And where is he?"
Raymond's voice became grim.
"That's the problem."
He looked at Dominic.
"For the last five years, Gabriel has been living under another name."
Clara felt cold.
"What name?"
Raymond stared at the armed guard outside her ICU.
Then whispered:
"Dr. Gabriel Cross."
Clara's blood froze.
Dr. Cross.
May you like
The cardiologist who had treated Ellen in Cleveland.
The man who had controlled every medication entering her mother's bloodstream.
