Chapter 4 - THE QUIET SHOT
The syringe contained haloperidol and a sedative.
At least according to the doctor Rocco brought to the house.
A legitimate doctor.
Not one owned by the Bellandis.
Dr. Samuel Levin examined Matteo privately while Rocco waited downstairs.
Bianca sat in the library with Enzo outside.
Her purse rested on the desk.
The syringe had been sealed in an evidence bag.
Rocco stared at it.
Bianca crossed her legs.
“You’re enjoying this.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Finally having a reason to hate me.”
Rocco almost laughed.
“I didn’t need one.”
“You always blamed me.”
“For Matteo dying?”
“Yes.”
“I blamed myself.”
That seemed to surprise her.
Rocco continued.
“He used my car that week.”
Her face changed.
“You knew that?”
“No.”
Rocco leaned back.
“I spent eleven years thinking if I had fixed my own car faster, maybe he wouldn’t have borrowed Carlo’s.”
Bianca stared.
“I went to his grave every month for three years.”
“I know.”
“Did you?”
Her eyes filled.
“Of course.”
Rocco’s voice dropped.
“You knew there was nobody in it.”
She looked away.
There it was.
No denial.
Rocco leaned forward.
“How long were you going to keep him hidden?”
Bianca whispered:
“He was sick.”
“Because you drugged him.”
“He was unstable.”
“Because everyone he trusted told him his family wanted him dead.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
Bianca looked at him.
For eleven years she had been part of every Christmas.
Every funeral.
Every baptism.
Rocco had toasted Matteo with her.
Held her hand when Lucia died.
Paid for renovations to her apartment.
Given her a seat beside him at family events because he believed she was his dead brother’s widow.
And all along Matteo was alive.
“You think I planned everything?”
Bianca asked.
Rocco said nothing.
“I didn’t.”
“Start with the bomb.”
“I did not order it.”
“Your father did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong.”
“I don’t!”
She stood.
“Anthony knew Matteo found the records. He said he would handle it.”
“And you let him.”
“I was twenty-six.”
“So was Matteo.”
“My father terrified me.”
Rocco stared.
“That explains fear.”
His voice hardened.
“Not eleven years.”
Bianca’s face crumpled.
“When I got to the clinic, Matteo barely knew who I was.”
“But he knew enough.”
“Yes.”
“And you lied.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Anthony said if Matteo came home, we were all dead.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“Yes.”
“Did he threaten Matteo?”
“Yes.”
“Did he threaten me?”
Bianca paused.
“Yes.”
Rocco’s eyes narrowed.
“How?”
“He said you would go after him, and then his people would kill you.”
Rocco almost smiled.
“That would not have gone well for his people.”
“I know that now.”
“Stop saying that.”
She flinched.
“You knew exactly who my father was. Who I was.”
“I was afraid.”
“Again: one year, maybe.”
Rocco pointed toward the ceiling.
“Eleven?”
Bianca sank back into the chair.
“When Anthony died, I was free.”
“Yes.”
“But by then…”
“The inheritance.”
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“How much did you take?”
“I didn’t steal.”
“You received money as a widow.”
“Legally.”
“Because you kept your living husband legally dead.”
Silence.
“That is stealing with better paperwork.”
Bianca started crying.
“The accounts were already in my name.”
“And you liked the life.”
Her face twisted.
“Do you know what it was like before Matteo disappeared?”
Rocco stared.
“He controlled everything.”
“That isn’t the brother I knew.”
“You weren’t married to him.”
Rocco went quiet.
Bianca continued.
“He checked where I went.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Threaten you?”
“Not physically.”
“Then what?”
“He treated me like something that belonged to the Bellandis.”
Rocco did not dismiss it.
His family had been capable of that.
Women at tables.
Men making decisions.
Bianca continued.
“When he disappeared, for the first time I had money in my name.”
“Then divorce him.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because bringing him back exposed everything my father had done.”
“And everything you did.”
“Yes!”
Her voice echoed.
She covered her face.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Rocco watched her.
Finally:
“Why the syringe tonight?”
She looked toward the door.
“He’s dangerous when he panics.”
“Was he coming after you?”
“No.”
“Had he threatened anyone?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“I wanted to get him somewhere safe.”
“For who?”
She didn’t answer.
Rocco leaned back.
“For you.”
Bianca whispered:
“Yes.”
That was the closest thing to truth he had heard from her.
Then Enzo entered.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found where the key came from.”
Rocco looked at him.
“How?”
“Bianca’s phone.”
Her head snapped up.
“You searched my phone?”
Enzo ignored her.
“There are messages with Perry.”
Rocco’s eyes narrowed.
“The Staten Island guard?”
“Yes.”
“Read.”
Enzo looked at the screen.
PERRY: He’s gone.
BIANCA: Find him.
PERRY: Car gone too.
BIANCA: Check Lucia’s old places.
PERRY: What if he reaches Rocco?
BIANCA: He won’t.
Then another.
PERRY: And if he does?
BIANCA: I still have the medication.
Rocco looked at Bianca.
She went pale.
Enzo continued.
“Then this morning.”
BIANCA: Dinner at Rocco’s tonight. I’ll get inside early.
PERRY: You think he’s there?
BIANCA: Lucia was predictable.
Rocco’s jaw tightened.
His mother had built the hiding plan.
Bianca had remembered.
“Where’s Perry?”
“We’re locating him.”
Rocco stood.
Bianca said:
“Rocco.”
He ignored her.
“What happens to me?”
He turned.
For years, the answer would have been simple.
A car ride.
A basement.
A body no one found.
But Danny was somewhere downstairs.
Teresa too.
An eight-year-old had already sat in the rain because Bianca believed hierarchy mattered more than dignity.
Rocco suddenly saw the same instinct running through everything.
Who mattered.
Who didn’t.
Who deserved a chair.
Who deserved a locked room.
Who could be erased because they were inconvenient.
“You’re going to answer questions.”
Bianca stared.
“For police?”
“Yes.”
She laughed in disbelief.
“You’re calling police.”
“Yes.”
“You’re Rocco Bellandi.”
“I’m aware.”
“You think they won’t ask about you?”
“They probably will.”
Her face changed.
“You’d risk yourself?”
Rocco looked toward the staircase.
“For Matteo?”
He paused.
“For my house.”
Bianca shook her head.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“No.”
Rocco’s voice became quiet.
“My mistake was believing family deserved trust without earning it.”
Then Teresa appeared in the doorway.
She looked nervous.
“Mr. Bellandi?”
Rocco turned.
“What?”
“It’s Danny.”
He was moving before she finished.
“What happened?”
“Nothing bad.”
She hurried after him.
“He found something.”
Rocco stopped.
“What?”
“In your mother’s old sewing cabinet.”
Matteo had asked Teresa to look.
Inside a false bottom was a small recorder.
Old digital model.
Rocco recognized it.
Lucia had carried one during the last years of her life because she forgot things and liked recording reminders.
Teresa held it in both hands.
“There are files.”
“How many?”
“Seventeen.”
Rocco stared.
“From when?”
“The month before your mother died.”
His chest tightened.
Teresa pressed play.
Lucia Bellandi’s voice filled the hallway.
Old.
Firm.
Alive.
If you are hearing this, Rocco, then I failed to bring your brother home myself.
Rocco stopped breathing.
Down the stairs, even Bianca heard it.
Lucia continued.
Do not trust Bianca’s version of my death until you speak with Dr. Andrew Keller.
Rocco slowly looked toward Bianca.
Her face went white.
Matteo stepped into the hallway behind him.
“What did Mom say?”
Rocco replayed it.
Matteo closed his eyes.
Bianca began shaking her head.
“No.”
May you like
Rocco stared at her.
“What happened to my mother?”
