Chapter 7 - Enzo Took His First Steps With My Help, but the Moment He Did, the People Behind the Conspiracy Realized Their Entire Plan Was Falling ApartPhysical therapy began in secret.
I refused to use the drugs prescribed by Dr. Ricci.
We started from nothing.
Muscle stimulation.
Stretching.
Blood flow.
Slow movement.
Enzo hated it.
He cursed.
He threw towels.
He nearly broke a chair.
I laughed.
“You're charming.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.”
He smiled.
The first movement came after three weeks.
His right foot lifted.
One inch.
Then dropped.
He stared.
I stared.
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
“Do it again.”
“I can't.”
“Yes, you can.”
He tried.
Again.
The second time, his foot moved farther.
The third time, his knee shifted.
He cried.
I pretended not to see.
We didn't tell anyone.
But someone noticed.
The cameras showed unusual activity.
A guard reported seeing Enzo standing with assistance.
The information reached Victor.
He panicked.
He came to the estate with ten men.
But Enzo was ready.
He stood.
Using a walker.
Not fully.
Not independently.
But enough.
Victor froze.
“You were never supposed to walk.”
Enzo looked at him.
“That's why you were afraid.”
Gunfire started.
Security responded.
Victor escaped.
But one of his men was captured.
He confessed.
The plan had a deadline.
The vault would be transferred in forty-eight hours.
If Enzo remained physically disabled, the transfer would proceed.
If he recovered, they would need another method.
That gave us two days.
We had to find the vault.
And stop the transfer.
The location was hidden in the original Marchetti family chapel.
A place Enzo hadn't entered since his brother's funeral.
We went that night.
The chapel was empty.
Behind the altar was a hidden staircase.
At the bottom was a massive vault.
The door had two locks.
One required Enzo.
The other required me.
Our blood.
Together.
We looked at each other.
Then opened it.
Inside were hundreds of files.
Our lives.
Our families.
Everything.
The oldest file dated back forty years.
At the bottom was one sentence:
The successful heir will be selected by necessity, not blood.
I looked at Enzo.
“This was never about your death.”
He nodded.
“It was about replacing me.”
“With me.”
“Yes.”
The final file contained the name of the person who had commissioned it.
My mother.
But beside her name was another.
The real architect.
Enzo's grandfather.
Dead twenty years.
Impossible.
May you like
Unless the network had continued without him.
And someone living had been executing his plan.
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