Chapter 6 - The Brother Who Came Back
The bullet missed Emilio by four inches.
Police recovered the casing.
Security footage captured Rafe’s face.
For the first time, there was no ambiguity.
Rafe Corsaro was officially wanted for attempted murder.
Emilio spent the night at police headquarters answering questions.
Etta spent it furious.
Not frightened.
Furious.
“You covered me.”
They were inside a secure apartment Gabriel had arranged.
“Yes.”
“You could barely walk a month ago.”
“I walk considerably better now.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“It is slightly the point.”
“Emilio.”
He stopped smiling.
“What should I have done?”
“Gotten down.”
“I did.”
“After putting yourself between me and a bullet.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t do that again.”
He stared.
“Etta—”
“I am not asking you to care less about me.”
Her voice cracked.
“I’m asking you to stop treating your life like it’s already spent.”
That silenced him.
For fourteen months, Emilio had expected death.
Every decision had been shaped around it.
Risk meant nothing to a man without a future.
But he had one now.
And Etta wanted him to behave like it.
“I don’t know how,” he admitted.
“Learn.”
She took his hand.
“We both have practice.”
The next break came from an unexpected source.
Nurse Delaney surrendered to police.
She admitted replacing Emilio’s medication under Prentiss’s instructions.
She claimed she had believed the substituted compounds were experimental treatments.
Then Rafe began paying her.
By the time she understood something criminal was happening, she was trapped.
Her testimony revealed the larger plan.
Rafe never intended Emilio to die quickly.
A sudden death would trigger investigations and succession disputes.
He wanted deterioration.
A mysterious illness.
Months of weakness.
Eventually, Emilio would sign control of Corsaro businesses to his younger brother.
Then he would die naturally enough for everyone to accept it.
Except Emilio had refused to sign.
Again and again.
So Rafe accelerated the plan.
The sealed bedroom.
Contaminated air.
Altered medications.
Isolation.
Fear.
Etta had interrupted it accidentally.
Not through magic.
Not because her presence cured him.
She simply kept opening doors.
Turning off diffusers.
Bringing water.
Opening the conservatory during cleaning.
Questioning things wealthy specialists ignored.
Most importantly, Emilio slept better on the evenings Etta worked because she insisted on leaving the interior doors open while cleaning, allowing fresh air to circulate.
Eleven nights.
Eleven clues.
“She saved your life,” Gabriel said.
Emilio shook his head.
“She noticed mine.”
There was a difference.
Meanwhile, Etta returned to nursing school.
Not because Emilio arranged it.
She applied herself.
She obtained financial aid.
When one remaining debt threatened enrollment, she sold her father’s restored motorcycle.
Emilio hated that.
He said nothing.
Three days later, the motorcycle appeared at an auction.
Emilio bought it anonymously.
Etta discovered the truth within six hours.
“You bought my motorcycle.”
“No.”
“Gabriel bought my motorcycle.”
“That sounds like an issue between you and Gabriel.”
“Emilio.”
“Fine.”
He looked guilty.
“I panicked.”
“You paid three times its value.”
“It has sentimental significance.”
“To me.”
“Yes.”
She stared at him.
“Where is it?”
“My garage.”
“Give me the keys.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because legally, it’s mine.”
Etta narrowed her eyes.
Then Emilio smiled.
She threw a cushion at him.
It was the most normal argument either of them had experienced in years.
But normality did not last.
Two nights later, Gabriel received a message.
A photograph.
Mrs. Tunney sat tied to a chair inside an unknown room.
Blood marked one side of her forehead.
The message beneath it contained an address.
And instructions.
Emilio comes alone. Midnight.
Etta read it over his shoulder.
“No.”
“I have to.”
“No, you absolutely don’t.”
“She raised us.”
“Then she knows you’re not stupid.”
Emilio paced.
His strength had returned enough that anger now had somewhere physical to go.
“Rafe wants me.”
“Yes.”
“Then we give him what he wants.”
Etta stared.
“Have you learned nothing?”
“I learned that hiding behind other people doesn’t make them safer.”
“And walking into a trap does?”
Gabriel interrupted.
“We can use it.”
They contacted police.
A tactical team prepared.
Emilio wore a concealed transmitter.
The location was an abandoned textile warehouse near the river.
At 11:58 p.m., Emilio entered alone.
Rafe waited beneath a hanging industrial light.
Mrs. Tunney sat nearby.
Alive.
“You look better,” Rafe said.
Emilio stopped twenty feet away.
“You look disappointing.”
Rafe laughed.
“That mouth survived everything.”
“Release her.”
“You brought police.”
“No.”
Rafe studied him.
“You were always a terrible liar.”
He raised a gun.
Outside, officers prepared to move.
Then Mrs. Tunney shouted.
“Emilio, the floor!”
Emilio looked down.
A red light blinked beneath his shoe.
Pressure trigger.
Explosives.
Rafe smiled.
“If you move your foot, we all disappear.”
Police froze outside.
Emilio did too.
Rafe walked toward the exit.
“You see, brother? You still don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
Rafe opened the door.
“I never needed you dead.”
He smiled.
“I needed everyone else to believe you killed them.”
Then the warehouse doors locked.
May you like
Smoke began pouring from vents overhead.
And Etta, listening through Gabriel’s radio from two blocks away, heard Emilio cough.
