Chapter 3 - The House With Too Many Secrets

The physician arrived twenty minutes later.

Dr. Samuel Salvatore was in his early sixties, silver-haired, careful, and visibly furious when I showed him the altered medication record.

“I did not authorize this.”

Massimo sat reclined on the therapy table, still pale from the sedative.

“I assumed that.”

Dr. Salvatore ignored the sarcasm and examined him.

“Your pressure is improving.”

“I feel fine.”

“You look terrible.”

“Tessa has already mentioned my personality. Now you’re criticizing my face.”

I folded my arms.

“Your face is not the main problem.”

Dr. Salvatore glanced between us.

“You two have known each other for one day?”

“Unfortunately,” Massimo said.

“Likewise,” I answered.

The doctor’s mouth twitched.

Then he became serious.

“This dose was not enough to kill you.”

Massimo’s eyes sharpened.

“But?”

“But repeated dosing could worsen balance, slow reaction time, increase fall risk, and interfere with rehabilitation.”

I looked at him.

“Exactly.”

Massimo’s expression cooled.

“So whoever did this didn’t necessarily want me dead.”

Dr. Salvatore shook his head.

“I can’t know intent.”

“I can.”

“No,” I said.

Massimo looked at me.

“No?”

“You can suspect. You cannot know.”

He gave me an irritated look.

“You enjoy correcting me.”

“Someone has to.”

Daniel Vieri stood near the door, arms folded.

“We searched Anthony’s room. No clothing, no passport, no cash.”

“Cameras?” Massimo asked.

“He left through the service gate at four twelve this morning.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Find him.”

Daniel nodded.

I turned back to the medication chart.

“There is another problem.”

Everyone looked at me.

I pointed to a line on the previous week’s record.

“This same notation appears three times.”

Dr. Salvatore leaned closer.

His face changed.

“Morning sedative.”

“Yes.”

Massimo looked from him to me.

“How long?”

“At least three weeks,” I said.

The room went silent.

Massimo’s hand closed around the edge of the table.

“Three weeks.”

I nodded.

“Possibly longer. I need the older records.”

Elena had been standing near the window, pale and rigid.

“I should have seen this.”

Massimo turned toward her.

“No.”

“I handle your medications.”

“You handle a thousand things in this house.”

“But this—”

“Elena.”

His voice softened in a way I had not heard before.

“You did not do this.”

She swallowed hard.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because you raised me.”

That stopped me.

Elena looked away.

Suddenly the formal house manager made more sense.

There was history there.

Family without the name.

Massimo noticed my curiosity.

“Later.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were about to.”

“I was thinking.”

“Loudly.”

Dr. Salvatore gathered the charts.

“I want full blood work. I also want every medication secured and administered by one verified person until this is resolved.”

“I’ll do it,” Elena said.

“No,” Massimo answered.

She looked hurt.

He clarified.

“You already carry too much. Daniel will assign a nurse.”

“I am standing right here,” I said.

Massimo looked at me.

“You are a therapist.”

“I know medication reconciliation.”

“You are not becoming responsible for everything.”

“That might be the first sensible thing you’ve said.”

He stared.

I smiled.

“See? Recovery.”

The next two days changed the rhythm of the estate.

Security doubled.

Doors that had been open were locked.

Employees whispered.

Massimo pretended nothing bothered him.

I pretended not to notice that every time a tray entered the room, his eyes checked who carried it.

We kept working.

That mattered.

On the second morning, I introduced electrical muscle stimulation to assist activation in his left quadriceps.

He watched the muscle contract.

“That looks unnatural.”

“It is a controlled electrical impulse.”

“I hate it.”

“You hate everything that helps you.”

“I like you occasionally.”

“That is a concerning neurological symptom.”

He laughed.

Then the stimulation triggered a stronger response.

His expression changed.

“Did I do that?”

“Partly.”

“Partly is not enough.”

“It is more than yesterday.”

He looked at his leg.

I could see the battle inside him.

Hope wanted to rise.

Fear pushed it back down.

“What if this is all I get?” he asked.

I sat on the stool beside him.

“Then we make this the strongest version of all you get.”

“That is not very comforting.”

“It is honest.”

He was quiet.

Then he said, “My father hated uncertainty.”

I waited.

“He believed every problem could be controlled if you had enough money, enough loyalty, or enough fear.”

“Did you believe him?”

“For a long time.”

“And now?”

Massimo looked at his legs.

“Now I know the body does not care how powerful you are.”

It was the first time he spoke about his past without armor.

I did not push.

Trust in rehabilitation was like balance.

You could not force it without making someone fall.

That afternoon, Elena found me in the kitchen while I was making tea.

“You should know something about Massimo.”

I looked at her.

“He told me you raised him.”

Her face softened.

“His mother died when he was six.”

“I’m sorry.”

“His father had no idea how to raise a grieving child. He knew business. Power. Discipline. Not tenderness.”

“So you stayed.”

“I was the housekeeper then.”

She smiled sadly.

“I became whatever he needed.”

I stirred the tea.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he is going to push you away.”

“He already tries.”

“No. Not like he will if he starts caring.”

The spoon stopped in my cup.

“Elena—”

“I am not suggesting anything improper.”

“You are absolutely suggesting something.”

She smiled.

“I am suggesting that Massimo has spent his whole life believing people stay because they are paid, afraid, or trapped.”

“I’m paid.”

“Yes.”

“That is literally why I came.”

“Yes.”

“And I am leaving after three months.”

Elena’s eyes were kind.

“Then perhaps three months is exactly why he will believe you.”

Before I could answer, Daniel entered the kitchen.

His expression was wrong.

“Massimo wants you upstairs.”

“What happened?”

“We found Anthony.”

My stomach tightened.

“Is he alive?”

Daniel paused.

“Yes.”

Relief came too quickly.

Then he added, “But he says he never changed the medication.”

Upstairs, Anthony sat in a chair with two security men nearby.

He looked terrified.

Massimo was across from him.

I stopped at the doorway.

Anthony saw me.

“That’s her.”

Massimo turned.

“What?”

Anthony pointed at me.

“The therapist. She’s the one asking questions.”

I stared.

“I’ve never met you.”

“I know.”

“That sentence makes no sense.”

Anthony looked at Massimo.

“I left because someone called me last night. They knew where my daughter goes to school.”

Massimo’s face went completely still.

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did they want?”

“They told me to disappear before morning.”

“Why?”

Anthony’s eyes moved to me again.

“Because Miss Fitzgerald noticed the medicine.”

A cold silence spread through the room.

I took one step forward.

“How could anyone know I noticed it? I found the problem after you were already gone.”

Anthony shook his head rapidly.

“They said you would notice.”

That was worse.

Much worse.

Massimo looked at Daniel.

“Who knew her qualifications before she arrived?”

Daniel answered carefully.

“Elena. Dr. Salvatore. Camila Reyes. Me. You.”

Massimo looked at me.

My mouth had gone dry.

Camila.

My best friend.

The woman who had brought me the job.

I pulled out my phone.

“Call her,” Massimo said.

“I was going to.”

Camila answered on the second ring.

“Tessa?”

“Where are you?”

A pause.

“At work.”

“What work?”

Another pause.

“Tessa, what happened?”

“Did you know someone was giving Massimo extra sedatives?”

Silence.

Not confusion.

Silence.

My heart began to pound.

“Camila.”

“I can explain.”

The words hit me harder than a denial would have.

I looked at Massimo.

His expression told me he heard them too.

“Then start,” I said.

Camila inhaled shakily.

“Not on the phone.”

My voice turned cold.

“You have ten seconds to give me a reason not to hang up.”

“Tessa, the accident that put Massimo in that chair was not an accident.”

Everything inside me stopped.

Massimo’s gaze sharpened.

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Camila continued.

“And I think whoever caused it knows you may be the first person capable of proving it.”