Chapter 2 - DON’T LET MAMA LEAVE
The woman on Luca’s phone sounded exactly like Elena.
That was the worst part.
Same low voice.
Same clipped Chicago vowels.
Same slight rasp at the end of a sentence.
“Brother,” she whispered, “whatever you do…”
Luca’s hand tightened around the phone.
“Who is this?”
A breath.
Then:
“Don’t let Mama leave the hospital.”
Teresa went white.
Luca looked at her.
“Why?”
The woman laughed once.
Soft.
Broken.
“Because she knows why I came back.”
The line went dead.
Nobody moved.
Frank reached for Luca’s phone.
“Can I?”
Luca handed it over.
Good.
No shouting.
No command to hunt anyone down.
Yet.
Frank checked the number.
Elena’s.
Of course.
But the real Elena had been found locked behind the wine cellar.
I looked at Teresa.
She stared at the old photograph in her lap.
Two identical girls outside a church.
One Elena.
One dead, according to everyone who had known the Romano family.
Except apparently not dead.
“What’s her name?” I asked.
Teresa closed her eyes.
“Adriana.”
There.
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“My sister.”
“Your sister’s twin.”
“My sister.”
Teresa flinched.
Good.
He was already correcting the language.
Not ghost.
Person.
Then:
“You knew she was alive.”
Teresa began to cry.
“I knew she had been.”
“That is not what I asked.”
She gripped the photograph.
“When they were seventeen, Adriana tried to go to the police.”
Luca stared.
“About what?”
Teresa looked toward me.
Then Frank.
Family instinct.
Secrets only for blood.
Luca saw it.
“Rebecca found the poison under my watch.”
Good.
“She stays.”
I should have objected.
Patient confidentiality.
Criminal family history.
Not my business.
Except I had already become a witness.
And the toxicology team still needed information.
I sat.
Teresa whispered:
“Your father.”
Of course.
Vittorio Romano.
Dead nine years.
Still in the room.
“What about him?”
“Adriana found records in his office.”
“What records?”
“Collections.”
Teresa looked sick.
“Payments. Threats. Names.”
Luca said nothing.
He knew what those words meant.
So did I.
Criminal business.
Not rumor now.
Family memory.
Teresa continued.
“She copied some pages. She told Elena she wanted to take them to a reporter or the police.”
“Elena knew?”
“Yes.”
“Did Elena stop her?”
“No.”
That surprised him.
Teresa swallowed.
“Elena was terrified. But she did not stop her.”
“Then Father did.”
There.
Not question.
Teresa nodded.
“He found the copies.”
Silence.
“What did he do?”
“He said Adriana was unstable.”
My stomach turned.
That word again.
Convenient.
“He took her to a private psychiatric facility in Wisconsin under another name.”
I looked at Teresa.
“At seventeen?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a medical basis?”
Teresa’s face crumpled.
“There were doctors.”
Not answer.
Good.
“Was there a diagnosis?”
“I don’t know what was real.”
There.
Luca looked physically ill.
“How long?”
“Two years.”
His voice dropped.
“You visited her?”
“Yes.”
There.
“And told me she was dead?”
“I told you what your father told everyone.”
“That she died in a car fire.”
“Yes.”
“How old was I?”
“Nine.”
Luca looked away.
Good.
He had been a child.
Not complicit then.
“What happened after two years?”
Teresa stared at the floor.
“Your father moved her.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
Good.
“At first I knew.”
Teresa wiped her face.
“A facility in Switzerland.”
Of course wealth.
Distance.
Control.
“Then?”
“He cut off my access. Said if I kept asking, he would send Elena away too.”
There.
The room went still.
Threat.
Teresa chose one daughter over another.
Or believed she did.
Ugly.
Human.
Not excused.
“I stopped asking.”
Luca stared at his mother.
“For thirty years?”
“Not completely.”
She reached into her purse again.
More paper.
Letters.
Returned envelopes.
Private investigators.
Good.
She had looked sometimes.
Not enough.
Still.
“I found a record eight years ago saying Adriana had died under the alias Anna Ricci.”
“And you believed it?”
“I wanted to.”
There.
Honest.
Terrible.
Then Frank’s phone buzzed.
He checked.
“Real Elena is awake.”
Luca’s face changed.
“I need to talk to her.”
The doctor entered before he could stand.
“Mr. Romano, no.”
Good.
Medical authority.
His blood pressure had fallen again.
Toxicology had preliminary results.
The patch contained a potent transdermal antihypertensive medication.
In the clonidine class.
Enough to cause sedation, confusion, bradycardia, hypotension, visual changes, and dangerous rebound effects if exposure changed suddenly.
Good.
Not a magic poison.
Medication.
Misused.
The handwritten four?
Likely fourth prepared dose.
The physician said:
“We need to monitor you at least overnight.”
Luca started:
“I have to—”
“No.”
I said it at the same time as the doctor.
He glared at me.
I folded my arms.
“Your sister has police and security.”
Frank nodded.
“I called Chicago PD after we found Elena.”
Luca’s eyes snapped to him.
“You called police?”
“Yes.”
Frank looked almost apologetic.
“Rebecca told me the patches needed chain of custody.”
Good.
I had.
At the mansion before ambulance left.
No private evidence room.
No Romano justice.
Luca stared at me.
For a second, I thought he would explode.
Then he said:
“Good.”
There.
Good.
I breathed.
A detective arrived at 3:40 a.m.
Maya Ortiz.
Organized crime unit.
That made sense.
Luca’s name did not get a patrol officer and a notebook.
She separated everyone.
Good.
Teresa first.
Then Frank.
Then me.
Then Luca when doctor allowed.
I told exactly what happened.
No theories.
Symptoms.
Watch.
Patch.
Replacement bands.
Pharmacy image.
Dinner.
Elena’s reaction.
Good.
Detective Ortiz asked:
“Did you see Mrs. Romano apply any medication?”
“No.”
“Did Luca accuse her before the hospital?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“I asked whether she knew about the patch.”
Good.
“Did she answer?”
“She denied it.”
“Anything else?”
“She said she needed air.”
Good.
Then:
“Did Mr. Romano threaten anyone?”
“No.”
Important.
“Did he order his men to find or harm someone?”
“No.”
Good.
Not tonight.
Ortiz wrote.
Then she asked:
“Why did you remove the watch when everyone told you not to?”
I almost laughed.
“Nurse instinct.”
“More specific.”
“His symptoms didn’t fit the meal timing. I saw him scratch beneath the watch. I remembered a transdermal medication toxicity case.”
Good.
She nodded.
Then:
“Would you have removed it if he had not been Luca Romano?”
“Yes.”
There.
That mattered to me.
After my interview, I sat outside Luca’s room.
Exhausted.
My agency called.
Of course.
The hospital had notified them because I was private nurse of record.
Supervisor, Denise Palmer.
“Rebecca, you are off the assignment.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Pending safety review.”
Relief hit so hard I nearly cried.
Good.
Not fired.
Not trapped.
“We cannot send you back into a residence that is now an active crime scene.”
“Thank you.”
She hesitated.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
Good.
Truth.
“Go home after police release you.”
I looked toward Luca’s room.
“I will.”
No obligation.
Then Frank came out.
“Boss wants to see you.”
“Your boss is not my boss.”
Frank almost smiled.
“Fair.”
I entered anyway.
Luca looked pale.
No watch.
A bare strip around his wrist where the skin had been covered for years.
He looked wrong without it.
Interesting.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
His face changed.
“Because of this?”
“Because my agency suspended the assignment.”
“I can hire you directly.”
“No.”
Immediate.
Good.
He blinked.
“I need a nurse.”
“The hospital has several.”
“Rebecca.”
“No.”
There.
Professional boundary.
“You are now at the center of a criminal investigation involving your family. I am a witness. I cannot be your privately employed nurse through that.”
He stared.
Then nodded.
Good.
“Understood.”
Better.
Then:
“Will you tell me if I’m dying?”
I almost smiled.
“The doctors will.”
“Humor me.”
“You are not dying right now.”
Good.
He leaned back.
“Excellent.”
I turned to leave.
“Rebecca.”
I stopped.
“Thank you.”
Not for loyalty.
For noticing.
I swallowed.
“You’re welcome.”
Then:
“Don’t waste it.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“Call the police before your men.”
Good.
I left.
At home, I slept three hours.
Then woke to twenty-seven missed calls.
Most reporters.
My name had leaked.
Great.
One from Denise.
One from Detective Ortiz.
One from my mother’s memory-care facility.
That one mattered.
I called first.
Mom had fallen overnight.
No fracture.
Bruised hip.
Confused.
My chest tightened.
I drove there.
Normal crisis.
Mine.
Good.
For two hours, Luca Romano disappeared.
I helped Mom eat yogurt.
She called me Susan.
My sister’s name.
Susan had died when we were children.
Dementia.
No miracle.
I corrected gently once.
Then stopped.
Good.
At noon, Detective Ortiz called.
“We have Elena’s statement.”
I stepped into hallway.
“How is she?”
“Dehydrated. Mild sedative exposure. No major injury.”
Relief.
Then:
“She says the woman who locked her up is Adriana.”
There.
“Her twin?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Ortiz’s voice changed.
“She says Adriana has been inside the house for three days.”
My skin went cold.
“Three?”
“Long enough to photograph documents, access Luca’s dressing room, and clone Elena’s phone.”
There.
“Did she admit the patches?”
“Elena says Adriana told her Luca was only supposed to be sick enough to trigger an incapacity review.”
There.
The motive.
“What happens if he is declared incapacitated?”
Ortiz paused.
“We’re still working that out.”
I already knew someone would.
Trusts.
Voting rights.
Money.
Family control.
Then Ortiz said:
“Rebecca, there’s something else.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“The incapacity clause names Elena as temporary voting proxy for a block of Romano family shares.”
There.
Adriana did not need to kill Luca.
She needed him medically incompetent.
May you like
Then she needed Elena’s face.
And she already had it.
