Chapter 8 - The Father Who Came Back

Salvatore Rossi walked toward them with a cane he did not appear to need.

Special Agent Brooks stepped forward.

“Mr. Rossi, this is an active federal evidence scene.”

Salvatore smiled. “Then I am relieved competent people have finally arrived.”

Matteo’s voice was flat. “Why are you here?”

“To see my son.”

“You flew from Sicily because you missed me?”

“I flew because fools have started opening graves.”

Natasha watched Matteo’s face.

No anger.

That frightened her more.

Brooks signaled two agents. “Mr. Rossi, you are not under arrest. You are also not touching anything.”

“I had no intention of touching it.”

His eyes moved to Natasha.

“You have Adrian’s stubbornness.”

“You knew my father.”

“Everyone knew your father eventually. He had a talent for becoming inconvenient.”

Matteo stepped forward.

“Careful.”

Salvatore looked at him with faint amusement.

“There is my boy.”

“I am fifty years old.”

“And still easy to provoke.”

Natasha said, “Did you have my father killed?”

Salvatore’s smile disappeared.

The question shocked everyone except Matteo.

Brooks said, “Ms. Voss.”

“No. I want to hear him.”

Salvatore studied her.

“Your father died in a car accident.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“You have courage.”

“I have had worse men threaten me.”

Richard’s face flashed in her mind.

Salvatore seemed to understand.

“Dr. Castellano?”

“You know about him too?”

“I know about most men who mistake fear for love.”

Natasha hated that wisdom could come from a man like him.

Brooks said, “This conversation ends now. Mr. Rossi, leave.”

Salvatore looked at Matteo.

“Dinner tonight.”

“No.”

“That was not a request.”

Matteo’s mouth curved without humor. “You have been away too long.”

The old man’s gaze cooled.

Then he walked away.

The evidence tube went with Brooks.

Natasha insisted on accompanying it to the federal office.

Matteo did not argue.

That surprised her.

At noon, they sat in a windowless conference room while a forensic specialist opened the tube under camera.

Inside were forty-three pages.

An access ledger.

Original printouts.

Handwritten notes.

A small cassette tape.

And a sealed envelope labeled:

NATASHA VOSS — ONLY IF THEY FIND ME FIRST.

Natasha’s hands trembled.

Brooks slid it across the table.

“You should open it.”

Natasha looked at Matteo.

“Leave.”

He did.

No argument.

No wounded expression.

He simply walked out.

She opened the envelope.

Tasha,

If you are reading this, then I was right about two things and wrong about one.

I was right that dangerous people would come looking.

I was right that you would be brave enough to finish what I could not.

I was wrong to think I could keep you safe by keeping you ignorant.

Natasha stopped.

The next lines blurred.

She wiped her eyes.

I have spent my life teaching you that truth matters. Then I discovered a truth so ugly I began lying to you every day. I told myself that was protection. Perhaps every frightened father calls control by a kinder name.

She had to set the letter down.

Richard had called control love.

Her father had recognized the trap before she ever lived it.

She kept reading.

The ledger proves that patient records were altered through accounts connected to Vittorio Castellano, Richard Castellano, Paul Castellano, and a hospital administrator named Gerald Pike. Financial transfers were routed through companies associated with Salvatore Rossi.

Luca Rossi helped me copy the records.

Luca planned to testify.

If Luca is dead, investigate Salvatore.

If I am dead, investigate Salvatore and Paul.

Do not assume Matteo knew. Do not assume he did not.

Most important: do not let any man make this story about his war.

It is about the patients.

Natasha stared at that sentence.

Not Matteo’s brother.

Not her father.

Not Richard.

The patients.

Brooks quietly asked, “Are you all right?”

“No.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No.”

Adrian’s letter ended with names.

Seventeen names.

Patients who had lost transplant priority after records were altered.

Five had died within months.

One name was underlined twice.

Sofia Marquez.

Natasha looked at Elena.

Elena had gone completely still.

“My sister.”

Natasha’s breath caught.

Elena took the letter.

“Sofia needed a liver. She was number three on the regional list.”

Her voice became distant.

“One week she dropped to eleven. They told us new clinical data changed the score.”

Brooks closed her eyes.

Elena looked at Matteo through the glass wall.

“He knew my sister died.”

Natasha said, “Did he know why?”

“I don’t know.”

Elena stood.

She opened the conference-room door.

“Matteo.”

He entered.

She held up the letter.

“Did you know?”

He read the name.

His face changed.

“No.”

“Do not lie to me.”

“I knew Sofia died waiting. I did not know her score was altered.”

Elena’s eyes filled.

“I have worked for you eight years.”

“I know.”

“You paid for her funeral.”

“I know.”

“And all that time your family’s money moved through the system that pushed her down the list.”

Matteo looked wrecked.

“Yes.”

Elena slapped him.

No one moved.

He accepted it.

Brooks said, “Ms. Marquez—”

“I’m done.”

Elena removed her security badge and placed it on the table in front of Matteo.

“I’m done working for you.”

He looked at the badge.

Then at her.

“You should be.”

She left.

Natasha wanted to follow but Brooks stopped her gently.

“There is one more thing.”

The cassette had been digitized.

Brooks pressed play.

Luca Rossi’s voice filled the room.

“Adrian, if I don’t make it, tell Matteo Dad ordered the warehouse hit.”

Matteo closed his eyes.

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Luca continued.

“And tell him Paul Castellano arranged it.”