Chapter 5 - THE ATTENDING PHYSICIAN
The phone felt heavy in my hand.
I stared blindly at the wall, the words echoing in my mind. Look at the name of the attending physician who signed it.
Grace watched me carefully. "Victor? What's wrong?"
I didn't answer. I walked straight past her, heading for the heavy oak doors of my home office. I kept a locked file cabinet behind my desk, containing every medical record, every bill, every piece of paper from the night Claire died.
I hadn't looked at them in three years.
I unlocked the drawer and pulled out the thick blue folder from Miami General.
Grace stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself.
I flipped past the billing statements and the intake forms, my fingers trembling until I found the official coroner’s report and the death certificate.
Cause of death: Peripartum cardiomyopathy. Sudden cardiac failure.
I looked at the bottom of the page.
Attending Physician: Dr. Richard Bellini.
The air rushed out of my lungs.
"He was there," I whispered. "Vanessa’s father was Claire's doctor."
Grace stepped into the office, her face pale. "But... Claire's doctor was Dr. Evans. We talked about him. She trusted him."
"Evans was on vacation the week she went into early labor," I recalled, the memories flooding back in a nightmare montage. "The hospital assigned a chief of staff to cover the VIP wing. It was Bellini."
I looked at Grace.
"He just called me," I said. "He told me to release Vanessa, or he would send files to the feds about how Claire really died."
Grace covered her mouth. "You think he...?"
"I think he killed my wife," I said, the words tasting like poison. "And I think my mother knew him."
The pieces were slamming together with sickening clarity. My mother’s obsession with "stability." Her push to merge my syndicate with the legitimate medical supply chains. Her immediate endorsement of Vanessa just two years after Claire’s death.
"Claire knew," Grace realized, pulling the faded note from her pocket again. "Do not trust the hospital contracts. They are bleeding the syndicate. She must have found out Bellini was stealing from the medical wing."
"And Bellini realized she knew," I finished.
I slammed my fist onto the mahogany desk. The wood groaned under the impact.
For three years, I had blamed God. I had blamed bad luck. I had even, in my darkest moments, blamed my infant son for the loss of the only woman I ever loved.
And all this time, it had been a calculated hit.
"Victor," Grace said softly, stepping closer. "If Bellini goes to the feds with forged files, he can frame you for her death. He can take Noah away."
"He won't get the chance," I said coldly.
I picked up the phone on my desk and hit a speed dial button.
"Rossi."
"Boss?"
"Keep Vanessa in the warehouse. Tie her down. I'm coming. And send a team to Dr. Richard Bellini's estate in Coral Gables. I want him alive."
"Understood."
I hung up and checked my sidearm, racking the slide to ensure a round was chambered.
"I'm coming with you," Grace said.
I stopped and looked at her. "No. You stay here with Noah."
"Victor, my father was Arthur Vance," Grace said, her voice dropping into a tone of quiet, iron resolve I had never heard from her before. "I grew up in back rooms listening to men make threats. Bellini is a coward. Cowards don't make calls unless they hold a dead man's switch. You walk in there guns blazing, he’ll trigger whatever trap he set."
She was right.
"You need leverage," Grace continued. "And I know where Bellini hides his dirty money."
I raised an eyebrow. "How could you possibly know that?"
Grace reached into the collar of her modest navy dress and pulled out a delicate silver chain. Hanging from it was a small, ornate safety deposit box key.
"Because my father was blackmailing him before you killed him," Grace said simply. "This key opens a box at a private bank in Nassau. It has the ledgers. If you want to break Bellini, you use this. Not bullets."
I stared at the woman who had spent the last two years baking cookies and singing lullabies to my son.
"Why didn't you give this to me sooner?" I asked.
"Because," Grace said softly, "I didn't want to be part of the mafia again. I just wanted to be a mother."
The word hung between us. Mother.
Before I could process the weight of it, the secure line on my desk began to ring. It wasn't Rossi.
I hit the speaker button.
"Victor," my mother's voice echoed through the room. She sounded terrified.
"What did you do, Mother?" I demanded.
"Victor, you have to listen to me," she cried. "Bellini just called me. He knows you have Vanessa. He sent armed men to my house. But that's not the worst part."
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"Speak," I growled.
"He didn't just file medical papers," my mother sobbed. "He filed an emergency custody petition with Judge Harmon. He claims your house is a violent cartel environment. If you don't release Vanessa in one hour, the police are coming with child services to take Noah."
