Chapter 5 - THE TRUTH ABOUT SOFIA’S LAST MEDICATION NEARLY DESTROYED ME
Sofia had died seven years earlier.
Leukemia.
That fact had not changed.
I repeated it to myself over and over while doctors, pharmacists, lawyers, and federal investigators pulled old medical records.
Leukemia killed my daughter.
Not Dante.
Not a missing grant.
Not some dramatic poison hidden in an IV bag.
Leukemia.
I needed that distinction before emotion built a lie.
Her final weeks had been terrible.
Fevers.
Pain.
Respiratory distress.
A bloodstream infection.
Her doctors told me recovery was unlikely.
Then impossible.
On December eighteenth, she died with my hand around hers.
Dante’s comment suggested medication.
Maybe bluff.
Cruelty designed to destabilize me.
He knew Sofia was the only weapon that could still reach beneath everything.
Detective Navarro treated the remark seriously anyway.
Ravelin Medical Partners had supplied some medications to St. Catherine’s Hospice through the foundation.
Not chemotherapy.
Mostly pain-management and supportive-care drugs.
One lot number from Sofia’s final week appeared on a Ravelin invoice.
Morphine.
Legitimate.
Delivered.
Administered appropriately according to records.
No evidence anyone poisoned her.
I should have felt relief.
I did.
For approximately thirty seconds.
Then pharmacy investigators found something else.
Ravelin had billed the foundation for ten times the quantity actually delivered.
The difference was diverted.
Dante used Sofia’s final-care paperwork to hide the theft.
After she died, he expanded it.
Her death had not been caused by his scheme.
Her suffering had been used to finance it.
I sat alone in my office after the investigators left.
No lights.
Sofia’s photograph on the desk.
She wore a pirate hat.
Three gold coins in one hand.
My chest hurt so badly I wondered if grief could imitate a heart attack after seven years.
A quiet knock.
Clara.
“Come in.”
She entered holding a mug.
“Tea.”
“I don’t drink tea.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
“You haven’t eaten.”
“That’s not tea.”
“No.”
She almost smiled.
I did too.
Barely.
She placed a sandwich beside it.
Then turned to leave.
“Stay.”
She stopped.
I looked toward the chair.
She sat.
No maid uniform now.
I had ordered her employment suspended with full pay.
Not fired.
Suspended from work because she was a witness and because the idea of her serving dinner while my family investigated her husband’s death made me sick.
She wore jeans and a gray sweater.
She looked younger.
More visible.
“How is Ellie?”
“Asleep.”
“She asked if Dante is still mad.”
My hands tightened.
“What did you say?”
“That he is not here.”
“Good.”
“She asked if wishes can make people good.”
That hit.
“What did you say?”
“No.”
I looked at Clara.
She continued.
“I told her wishes can help people ask for things.”
“They can’t control what other people become.”
Smart.
“Who taught you that?”
She laughed.
“Therapy.”
Of course.
Everyone was apparently getting therapy except the mafia boss.
Maybe problem.
Clara looked at Sofia’s picture.
“She looks like you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Eyes.”
“Her mother’s.”
I stopped.
No one spoke of Elena often.
Sofia’s mother had died two years after Sofia.
Not illness.
Overdose.
Prescription opioids.
A grief spiral I had failed to stop.
My body went cold.
Opioids.
Ravelin.
No.
Facts.
Do not invent.
I called Navarro.
“Check whether Ravelin supplied any prescriptions connected to Elena Moretti.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“My wife died from an overdose.”
“Prescription source?”
“Multiple doctors.”
“Dante handled some arrangements after Sofia died.”
Navarro exhaled.
“Send records.”
Within a day, we had more.
Elena’s fatal medication had not come directly from Ravelin.
But one physician who prescribed her opioids had received consulting payments from a Ravelin affiliate.
That did not prove Dante caused her death.
It proved the same network touched more of my family than I understood.
I became obsessed.
Clara noticed.
“You are doing what Marco did.”
“What?”
“Not sleeping.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I looked at her.
She was beginning to speak differently.
Less apology.
Good.
Then Enzo entered.
“We found Michael Russo.”
Alive.
Philadelphia.
At a private rental house.
Federal agents arrested him after tracing a car used in Dante’s escape.
Dante was not there.
Michael requested counsel.
Then offered cooperation within six hours.
Cowardice?
Maybe.
Self-preservation creates useful truth.
Michael admitted he had sabotaged Marco’s brakes.
My stomach turned.
Clara did not hear it from me initially.
Navarro insisted victim notification be handled properly.
She came to the estate.
We sat in the library.
Clara held Ellie upstairs.
Then came down alone.
Navarro told her:
“The evidence and Mr. Russo’s statement indicate your husband’s brake line was intentionally damaged.”
Clara stopped breathing.
“He did it?”
“Michael says Dante ordered him to frighten Marco.”
“Not kill him.”
Clara laughed.
A broken sound.
“You cut a brake line to frighten someone?”
Navarro’s face remained controlled.
“That is the statement.”
“Does it matter?”
“For charging.”
Clara stood.
Her whole body shook.
“Marco died alone on a highway because Dante wanted him teachable.”
I closed my eyes.
Her phrase.
From recording.
Navarro continued.
“Michael says Dante was furious afterward.”
“He claimed Michael went too far.”
“Then paid him two hundred thousand dollars and arranged promotion.”
Clara stared.
“That is not regret.”
“No.”
Navarro agreed.
“Probably not.”
Ellie’s footsteps appeared upstairs.
Clara immediately wiped her face.
I said:
“Stay.”
She looked at me.
“Let Teresa bring her.”
Clara hesitated.
Then sat.
Important.
A mother does not have to hide every tear to protect a child.
Sometimes children need to see grief is survivable.
Ellie entered holding Teresa’s hand.
She ran to Clara.
“Mommy?”
Clara hugged her.
“I’m okay.”
“You crying.”
“Yes.”
“Did you do bad?”
Clara closed her eyes.
Then:
“No.”
The answer came without apology.
Ellie smiled.
Progress measured in one word.
Then she saw me.
“Uncle Vincent.”
“Yes?”
“Second wish work now?”
I looked at Navarro.
Michael arrested.
Dante hunted.
Truth exposed.
Clara still grieving.
“More.”
I said.
“It’s working more.”
Ellie nodded seriously.
Then:
“I know third wish.”
Every adult in the room froze.
The third coin was in my pocket.
I had not offered it again because everything became chaos.
I crouched.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
Clara immediately said:
“Ellie, you don’t have to—”
The child shook her head.
“I know.”
I took out the coin.
Placed it in her palm.
Sofia’s third coin.
The last wish.
Ellie stared at it.
Then looked at me.
“I wish Mommy could stay here forever.”
Clara stopped breathing.
I did too.
Ellie continued:
“And you be my daddy.”
The room disappeared.
Clara’s face went bright red.
“Ellie.”
The little girl looked confused.
“You said wish anything.”
I almost choked.
Navarro turned away, shoulders moving.
She was laughing.
Teresa covered her mouth.
I looked at Clara.
She looked horrified.
“I’m so sorry.”
Then she caught herself.
Her eyes closed.
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
The first real laugh I had made on December eighteenth in seven years.
Ellie smiled because she thought that meant yes.
I crouched closer.
“That is a very big wish.”
She nodded.
“You have a daddy.”
I said gently.
“Daddy Marco.”
She hugged her bear.
“He in heaven.”
My chest tightened.
“Yes.”
“I don’t replace him.”
She thought.
Then:
“You can be extra.”
I heard Navarro make a choking sound.
Clara whispered:
“Please kill me.”
“No.”
I said.
“Apparently we’re trying less of that.”
She looked at me.
Then laughed through tears.
Ellie pushed the coin toward me.
“Wish.”
I closed her fingers around it.
“Some wishes take time.”
“How much?”
“Maybe a lot.”
“Tomorrow?”
I laughed again.
“No.”
She sighed.
Three-year-olds do not respect emotional pacing.
Then my phone rang.
Enzo.
I answered.
“What?”
His voice was urgent.
“We found Dante.”
My laughter disappeared.
“Where?”
“St. Catherine’s.”
My body went cold.
The hospice.
Sofia’s hospice.
“He’s inside?”
“Yes.”
“With Bianca Serrano.”
“Police?”
“On the way.”
Then Enzo said the sentence that made every part of me freeze.
“He asked to see Sofia’s old room.”
Dante had returned to the place where my daughter died.
May you like
Not to hide.
To wait for me.
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