Chapter 5 — The Secret Isabella Was Protecting
Chapter 5 — The Secret Isabella Was Protecting
The second camera was still recording when Marcus discovered it.
No one noticed the tiny red light behind the decorative panel.
No one except Khloe.
She had been staring at the wall for nearly thirty seconds when she finally whispered:
“Marcus.”
He turned.
“What?”
“Someone is watching us.”
Victor followed her gaze.
The room became silent.
Marcus walked toward the wall.
He touched the panel.
Nothing.
Then he noticed the smallest irregularity in the wood.
A scratch.
Fresh.
He looked at Victor.
“Get everyone out.”
Victor immediately understood.
Within two minutes, the hospital room was empty except for Marcus, Khloe, Victor, and Detective Ruiz.
Victor pulled a knife from his jacket and carefully pried the panel loose.
Behind it was a black camera.
Small.
Professional.
Still warm.
Detective Ruiz stared at it.
“This wasn't installed by the hospital.”
Marcus's expression hardened.
“How long?”
Ruiz examined the wiring.
“Hard to tell.”
Victor looked at the camera.
“Long enough.”
Marcus picked up the device.
“Can we recover the recordings?”
Ruiz nodded.
“If they haven't been remotely wiped.”
Marcus looked at Khloe.
“They're not going to get another chance.”
He handed the camera to Ruiz.
Then his phone rang.
The caller ID made his expression change.
Isabella Rossi.
He answered.
“What?”
Her voice came softly.
“Marcus.”
He said nothing.
“I know you found the camera.”
His eyes narrowed.
“How?”
“Because I know who installed it.”
Victor moved closer.
Marcus put the call on speaker.
“Then tell me.”
Isabella breathed shakily.
“I can't.”
“You have five seconds.”
“Marcus, please.”
“Five.”
“Four.”
“Three.”
“I was protecting something.”
Marcus froze.
“What?”
Silence.
Then Isabella whispered:
“Not myself.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Marcus's voice became dangerously quiet.
“Who?”
Isabella began crying.
“Someone who would have been killed if I told you.”
“Who?”
“My brother.”
Victor looked at Marcus.
Isabella continued.
“Dante isn't my only family.”
Marcus frowned.
“What does your brother have to do with this?”
“He knows what happened to Adrian.”
Marcus's entire body went rigid.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Isabella.”
“I swear.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“I expect you to hate me.”
Marcus clenched his jaw.
“You attacked my wife.”
“I know.”
“You tried to destroy her.”
“I know.”
“You lied to everyone.”
“I know.”
“Then why should I listen to anything you say?”
There was a long pause.
“Because Khloe wasn't supposed to be the target.”
Marcus stared.
“What?”
“The person they wanted was you.”
The line went dead.
Marcus immediately called back.
No answer.
He called again.
Nothing.
Victor took the phone from him.
“We find her.”
Detective Ruiz shook her head.
“Not yet.”
Marcus looked at her.
“She knows something.”
“Exactly.”
“And?”
“And whoever she's afraid of knows she talked to you.”
Ruiz looked toward the door.
“If Isabella is telling the truth, she's now in danger.”
Three hours earlier, Isabella had been sitting alone in her hotel room.
She had removed her red dress.
Washed the blood from her heel.
Removed her makeup.
Without the perfect face, she looked younger.
Almost frightened.
Her phone rang.
Dante.
She answered.
“You failed.”
“I know.”
“You spoke to Marcus.”
She froze.
“How do you know?”
“I know everything.”
Isabella's hand tightened around the phone.
“I didn't tell him about my brother.”
“You didn't have to.”
“What do you mean?”
Dante laughed.
“The camera heard you.”
Isabella looked toward the ceiling.
“You're watching me?”
“No.”
A pause.
“I'm watching everyone.”
Her breathing changed.
“Dante…”
“You've become a liability.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing.”
She almost laughed.
“That's not true.”
“No.”
His voice became cold.
“I don't need to do anything.”
The line went silent.
Then Isabella heard a sound behind her.
A door opening.
She turned.
Someone stood in the hallway.
She screamed.
At the hospital, Marcus received a photograph.
Unknown number.
He opened it.
His face went pale.
It showed Isabella lying unconscious on the floor of her hotel room.
Blood beside her head.
The message beneath it contained only six words.
Stop looking for what was buried.
Marcus handed the phone to Victor.
“She's alive?”
“I don't know.”
Detective Ruiz looked at the image.
“Send it to forensics.”
Marcus stared at her.
“No.”
She looked at him.
“Marcus.”
“I'm going.”
“No.”
“This ends tonight.”
Ruiz stepped directly in front of him.
“That's what they want.”
He stopped.
She continued.
“Every time they leave bait, you chase it.”
Marcus looked at the photograph.
“She may be dying.”
“Maybe.”
“And you're telling me to do nothing?”
“No.”
Ruiz's eyes hardened.
“I'm telling you to stop playing their game.”
At 10:14 a.m., Victor discovered the connection.
The hidden camera had transmitted its recordings through a private relay.
Not the hospital network.
A separate satellite connection.
He traced the signal.
The location appeared on his laptop.
An abandoned warehouse.
South Side.
Marcus stared.
“Let's go.”
Victor shook his head.
“There's something else.”
“What?”
“The signal isn't coming from the warehouse.”
Marcus frowned.
“Then why does it show that location?”
“Because someone wants us to think it is.”
Victor zoomed in.
The real signal was bouncing through three locations.
Chicago.
Toronto.
And Mexico City.
Marcus stared.
“Why Mexico?”
Victor didn't answer.
Detective Ruiz did.
“Adrian.”
Six years earlier, Adrian Vale had been working on a secret acquisition.
The deal involved a Mexican construction company.
A company controlled by the Rossi family.
Adrian had discovered that the company wasn't merely laundering money.
It was moving something else.
People.
Fake identities.
Witnesses.
Employees who knew too much.
People who disappeared.
Marcus had never known.
He had assumed the financial irregularities were greed.
They were much worse.
Adrian had discovered a network that used corporate acquisitions to hide illegal operations.
And the Rossi family had been involved for years.
Isabella's father had not built a fortune.
He had built a machine.
And Marcus's company had almost become part of it.
At noon, Detective Ruiz placed another photograph on the table.
A woman.
Older.
Gray hair.
Tired eyes.
Marcus stared.
“Who is she?”
“Lucia Rossi.”
“Isabella's mother?”
“No.”
Victor leaned forward.
“Then who?”
Ruiz answered:
“Isabella's aunt.”
Marcus frowned.
“I thought Dante was her mother's brother.”
“He is.”
Ruiz looked at them.
“Lucia is Dante's wife.”
Marcus stared.
“Then why does she matter?”
Ruiz opened the next file.
“She was the accountant who discovered the original money trail.”
Silence.
“What happened to her?”
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Three months before Adrian.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
The pattern was becoming impossible to ignore.
People disappeared whenever they got too close.
Adrian.
Lucia.
And now Isabella.
That afternoon, Khloe asked Marcus to sit beside her.
He did.
She studied his face.
“You found something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“Isabella has a brother.”
Khloe frowned.
“I didn't know.”
“Neither did I.”
“What does he know?”
“About Adrian.”
Khloe looked down.
“Then we need to find him.”
Marcus nodded.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“The Rossi family may have been involved in something much bigger than financial fraud.”
Khloe's expression changed.
“How much bigger?”
“People disappeared.”
She went silent.
Then touched her stomach.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Is our baby safe?”
His expression softened.
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
“I promise I'll do everything I can.”
Khloe shook her head.
“Don't promise that.”
He looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because people who make promises like that sometimes forget that they can't control everything.”
She reached for his hand.
“Promise me something else.”
“What?”
“Don't let revenge make you become someone our daughter won't recognize.”
Marcus looked at her.
Then nodded.
“I promise.”
At 3:27 p.m., Isabella woke.
Her head hurt.
Her wrists were tied.
She was lying in a basement.
The light above her flickered.
A man stood in the corner.
She recognized him.
Her father's former attorney.
“Where is my brother?”
The man smiled.
“You already know.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He walked closer.
“Your brother has been alive for six years.”
Isabella's eyes filled with tears.
“Where?”
“You protected him.”
“I did.”
“You lied for him.”
“I did.”
“You destroyed Adrian's life.”
“I didn't know.”
“You knew enough.”
Isabella shook her head.
“I was twenty-three.”
“You were old enough.”
She closed her eyes.
“What do you want?”
The man placed a photograph on the floor.
It showed a young man.
Dark hair.
A scar across his cheek.
Isabella whispered:
“Matteo.”
Her brother.
Alive.
The man crouched beside her.
“Marcus Thorne is looking for him.”
“He won't hurt him.”
“No.”
The man smiled.
“Marcus won't.”
“But someone else will.”
At 5:00 p.m., Marcus received another message.
I CAN TAKE YOU TO ADRIAN.
He stared at the screen.
Then:
COME ALONE.
Victor immediately said:
“No.”
Marcus looked at him.
“I know.”
“Then why are you thinking about going?”
“Because whoever sent this knows where Adrian is.”
Detective Ruiz took the phone.
“We trace it.”
The message disappeared.
Victor frowned.
“Remote deletion.”
Ruiz looked at Marcus.
“Someone is very good at this.”
Marcus nodded.
“Then let's see how good.”
The meeting location was an abandoned railway station.
Marcus arrived with no visible security.
But Victor's men were everywhere.
Ruiz had positioned officers three blocks away.
Marcus stood beneath a broken light.
Rain began falling.
A figure appeared at the far end of the platform.
Young.
Thin.
Dark coat.
Marcus took one step forward.
The figure stopped.
“Marcus Thorne?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Matteo Rossi.”
Marcus froze.
“Isabella's brother?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Matteo looked away.
“She tried to protect me.”
“From whom?”
“From our father.”
Marcus stared.
“Your father is dead.”
Matteo shook his head.
“No.”
Silence.
“He's alive.”
Marcus's face changed.
“Where?”
Matteo whispered:
“Closer than you think.”
A gunshot cracked through the rain.
Matteo collapsed.
Marcus caught him before he hit the ground.
Blood spread across his coat.
“Matteo!”
The young man grabbed Marcus's sleeve.
“Don't trust…”
His eyes rolled back.
Marcus looked around.
Nobody.
No shooter.
Only rain.
Then his phone vibrated.
A message.
Now you understand why Isabella was protecting the secret.
Hours later, Matteo survived surgery.
Barely.
Marcus stood outside the operating room.
Victor approached.
“Ruiz found something.”
“What?”
“The bullet.”
Marcus looked at him.
“What about it?”
“It came from a weapon used in two previous murders.”
Marcus's expression hardened.
“Which murders?”
Victor answered:
“Adrian's supposed murder.”
Marcus went still.
“And Lucia Rossi's.”
The corridor seemed to disappear.
“Same weapon?”
“Same ballistic signature.”
Marcus looked toward the operating room.
“Then Matteo knows who killed them.”
Victor nodded.
“And that's why someone tried to kill him tonight.”
At 2:00 a.m., Khloe finally slept.
Marcus sat beside her.
He looked exhausted.
She opened her eyes.
“Did you find him?”
“Who?”
“Adrian.”
Marcus hesitated.
“Not yet.”
Khloe reached for his hand.
“Then tomorrow.”
He smiled faintly.
“Tomorrow.”
She closed her eyes.
Marcus looked toward the window.
For six years, he had believed his life had been destroyed by an accident.
Then he discovered it had been a crime.
He had believed Adrian had abandoned him.
Then he discovered Adrian had been hunted.
He had believed Isabella wanted his money.
Now he understood she had been protecting her brother.
But one question remained.
Why?
Why had Isabella sacrificed everything to keep Matteo alive?
What did Matteo know?
And why had the same gun been used against the people who tried to expose the Rossi family?
Marcus didn't know yet.
But there was one thing he finally understood.
The attack on Khloe had never been about jealousy.
It had been about silence.
Someone had spent years destroying anyone who came close to the truth.
And Khloe had come dangerously close.
Behind the hospital wall, the hidden camera continued to transmit.
The person watching the feed leaned toward the screen.
A second monitor showed Matteo in the operating room.
A third showed Marcus beside Khloe.
Then a fourth screen lit up.
A live image of an old rehabilitation facility.
Inside one room sat a man in a wheelchair.
Older.
Thinner.
Scarred.
But alive.
Adrian Vale opened his eyes.
A nurse whispered:
“Mr. Vale, someone is asking for you.”
Adrian looked toward the door.
“Who?”
The nurse hesitated.
“Marcus Thorne.”
For the first time in six years, Adrian smiled.
Then he whispered:
May you like
“Finally.”
:::
