Chapter 6 - GABRIEL’S NAME
Gabriel offered his gun to Sebastian.
That was the first thing he did.
He placed it on the hospital table.
Then his phone.
Then his security badge.
“Lock me up.”
Sebastian stared.
“That’s dramatic.”
“My credentials were used to threaten a child.”
“You threatened him yourself once.”
Gabriel flinched.
Good.
He should.
I stepped closer.
“Who had your access?”
“My deputy.”
“Name?”
“Luca Ferraro.”
Sebastian’s face changed.
“Matteo’s godson.”
Of course.
This family needed fewer relationships and more passwords.
Gabriel continued.
“Luca had emergency override authority.”
“Had?”
“I revoked it two months ago.”
“Did you rotate the old keys?”
Silence.
I almost laughed.
Men could run criminal empires and still fail basic cybersecurity.
Sebastian noticed my face.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“Yes.”
Federal investigators traced Luca’s credentials.
Medication cancellation.
Oliver’s machine service.
Mansion camera access.
Copies of Sebastian’s therapy schedules.
Luca had been feeding information to Matteo.
He had also monitored Gabriel’s communications.
That explained why threats appeared so quickly after I discovered Sebastian’s reflexes.
But Luca was missing.
Again.
Everybody in this story disappeared at exactly the wrong time.
Gabriel looked destroyed.
“I trained him.”
Sebastian said nothing.
“He was nineteen.”
“Gabriel.”
“I brought him into the house.”
“Stop.”
Gabriel looked up.
Sebastian continued.
“I have spent months learning this from Clare, so unfortunately now I have to inflict it on you.”
I crossed my arms.
“Good.”
Sebastian glared.
Then back to Gabriel.
“You are responsible for what you ignored.”
Gabriel nodded.
“You are not responsible for every choice Luca made.”
The man looked stunned.
Sebastian looked annoyed at himself.
“This is terrible.”
“What?”
“Personal growth.”
I smiled.
Oliver’s medication approval was restored through his original pediatric specialist.
No Lombardi foundation.
No private interference.
That was my condition.
Sebastian agreed.
His rehabilitation restarted gradually.
Two weeks after surgery, sensation changed.
Burning along his right thigh.
Awful.
Promising.
A week later, he moved two toes.
Voluntarily.
He stared at them for an entire minute.
Then looked at me.
“Did you see?”
“No.”
His face fell.
I smiled.
“Of course I saw.”
He called me a terrible person.
I called it motivation.
By month two, Sebastian could activate both quadriceps weakly.
Stand in a frame with heavy support.
No independent balance.
No miracle.
But progress nobody had allowed him to imagine for twenty years.
Then one morning, he took one assisted step between parallel bars.
Left foot.
Barely six inches.
He shook afterward.
Not from weakness alone.
He sat.
Covered his face.
I turned away.
“Don’t.”
I looked back.
“I’m not crying.”
“You are.”
“You walked.”
“One terrible step.”
“One more than yesterday.”
He looked at me.
Then took my hand.
No words.
That was enough.
That evening, Luca Ferraro resurfaced.
He called Gabriel directly.
“I want protection.”
Gabriel’s face hardened.
“From who?”
“Matteo.”
“Matteo is under federal restriction.”
“You think that means he has no people?”
Fair.
Luca wanted immunity.
He claimed he had evidence tying Matteo directly to the original shooting.
Not a payment.
A recording.
Twenty years old.
Matteo arguing with the contractor.
The problem?
The recording was inside the Lombardi estate.
Hidden in the old wine cellar.
Why?
Luca had stolen it from Matteo years earlier as insurance.
Of course.
Everyone kept insurance against everyone.
Gabriel wanted to retrieve it.
Federal agents insisted on handling the search.
Sebastian agreed.
Again, growth.
They found the recording behind a false stone panel.
Audio quality terrible.
Content not.
Matteo’s voice:
“I said wound him. Not kill him. If Sebastian dies, his father gives everything to the Church out of grief. I need him alive and unable to take control.”
Sebastian listened once.
Then turned it off.
Twenty years.
Not chance.
Design.
Matteo had planned to cripple him.
Marlow had helped preserve the outcome.
Luca had helped monitor anyone who threatened it.
And Sebastian had built a criminal empire from the chair because he believed the chair was the one thing no enemy had given him intentionally.
Now even that belief was gone.
The recording was enough for additional charges.
Matteo’s attorneys immediately began negotiating.
Sebastian refused to participate.
“Why?”
I asked.
“Because I want one thing that has nothing to do with him.”
“What?”
“Therapy.”
I smiled.
Good answer.
Three months later, Sebastian took four supported steps.
Oliver stood at the end of the bars.
“Come on.”
Sebastian glared.
“Do not coach me.”
“You’re slow.”
“I’m recovering from a spinal injury older than you by twelve years.”
Oliver frowned.
“You’re also dramatic.”
I turned away because I was laughing.
Sebastian made step five.
Then six.
His right knee buckled.
The therapist caught him.
Oliver clapped anyway.
Sebastian sat.
Breathing hard.
Then Oliver’s face changed.
He reached for his chest.
“Mom.”
I moved instantly.
His breathing shortened.
Not a machine failure.
An attack.
I grabbed his rescue medication.
Nothing.
Again.
Still worsening.
Hospital protocol.
Emergency services.
Sebastian watched from his chair.
Powerless.
I hated that fear on his face.
Oliver stabilized in the ER.
But bloodwork revealed something strange.
His medication level was far below expected therapeutic range.
I stared at the doctor.
“He takes every dose.”
“Then the medication may be subtherapeutic.”
I brought in the bottle.
Pharmacy analysis followed.
The pills looked correct.
They weren’t.
Underdosed.
Counterfeit.
My stomach dropped.
The refill had come from our normal pharmacy.
Investigators traced the distributor.
One parent company.
Lombardi Medical Supply.
Sebastian’s legitimate company.
His face went white.
Matteo had not merely threatened Oliver.
Somebody had been distributing counterfeit medication through a company Sebastian still owned.
May you like
And this time, the secret could hurt thousands of people.
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