Chapter 4 - THE ROOM WHERE NICO HID HIS PAIN|
Three days after the disastrous dinner, the Moretti mansion felt strangely empty.
Vanessa had moved into a luxury hotel under the advice of her attorney.
Luca had suspended Marcus's security credentials and replaced the household security team while the police searched for him.
But none of those changes made Nico feel safe.
Every morning, he woke before sunrise and sat staring through his bedroom window.
Every afternoon, he refused to leave his wheelchair unless someone stayed nearby.
And every evening, he apologized whenever he needed help.
I hated hearing that word from him.
Sorry.
He said it when his hands shook.
He said it when he dropped a glass.
He even said it when he asked for something as ordinary as another blanket.
One morning, I carried breakfast to his room and found him sitting on the floor beside his bed.
His wheelchair was only a few feet away.
"Nico!"
I immediately knelt beside him.
"Are you hurt?"
He shook his head, but tears filled his eyes.
"I wanted to reach my old exercise journal."
He pointed toward a wooden chest under the window.
"I thought I could get it myself."
I helped him settle safely before retrieving the journal.
Its leather cover was worn from months of use.
Inside were pages filled with careful handwriting, photographs, and small daily goals.
Some entries celebrated simple victories.
Holding a coffee mug without spilling.
Fastening a shirt button.
Standing beside a therapy bar for twenty seconds.
Other entries described frustration, pain, and exhaustion.
Then I reached the date of his final rehabilitation session.
The page contained only one sentence.
Today I stood long enough to see myself in the mirror without the wheelchair.
Beneath it, Nico had drawn a tiny star.
I traced the drawing with my finger.
"You never told me about this."
He gave a sad smile.
"Vanessa said it wasn't worth celebrating."
"She told me standing for a few seconds didn't mean anything if I couldn't walk across the room."
I looked at him.
"Nico, standing for a few seconds meant everything because you worked for it."
His lower lip trembled.
"Do you really think I can get better again?"
"I think your doctors deserve the chance to help you find out."
"And I think you deserve the chance to decide what recovery means to you."
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then he whispered something I would never forget.
"Nobody has asked me what I want since the accident."
That afternoon, Dr. Elena Park visited the mansion with Nico's permission.
She examined his strength, coordination, and recent medical records.
She explained that interrupted therapy could contribute to lost conditioning and reduced confidence, although she couldn't promise how much function he would regain.
When she finished, she sat beside him instead of speaking over his head.
"Nico, what would you like to work toward first?"
He looked surprised.
"Me?"
"Of course you."
He stared at his hands.
"I want to feed myself without everyone watching."
"Then let's make that one of our goals."
She discussed a new therapy plan, including an occupational therapy assessment for adaptive utensils and exercises appropriate to his condition.
For the first time in weeks, Nico looked hopeful.
Luca stood quietly near the doorway.
I noticed his eyes shining when he heard his brother ask about returning to the clinic.
After Dr. Park left, Luca approached me in the hallway.
"Claire, I owe you an apology."
I was startled.
"For what, sir?"
"For letting my brother disappear inside his own home."
He looked toward Nico's bedroom.
"I thought paying the bills meant I was taking care of him."
"I didn't see how lonely he'd become."
I hesitated before answering.
"Nico never needed you to fix everything."
"He needed you to listen."
Luca accepted the words without defending himself.
"Then that's what I'm going to do."
That evening, he canceled two business meetings and ate dinner alone with Nico in the kitchen.
They ordered pizza, laughed about their childhood, and argued over which Chicago baseball team deserved their loyalty.
Nico managed several bites using an adapted fork Dr. Park had recommended for evaluation.
When he dropped a piece of pizza, Luca simply picked it up and handed him another slice.
There was no humiliation.
No angry voice.
No audience.
Only two brothers eating together.
I thought the worst days were finally behind us.
But shortly before midnight, my phone rang.
The number was blocked.
I answered cautiously.
"Hello?"
A man's voice spoke quietly.
"Claire Bennett?"
"Who's calling?"
"You need to stop helping Nico."
My blood ran cold.
"Who is this?"
The man ignored my question.
"You think that flash drive contains everything?"
"It doesn't."
I gripped the phone.
"What are you talking about?"
He lowered his voice.
"Ask Luca what happened to the original motorcycle inspection report."
Then the call ended.
I stood in the dark hallway, unable to move.
Because I remembered something from the night of Nico's accident.
The police had initially told Luca that a mechanical failure might have caused the crash.
But an independent mechanic had also inspected the damaged motorcycle.
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And I had personally delivered his sealed report to Marcus Bell.
Suddenly, I wondered whether Luca had ever seen it.
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