Page 43 of Capuleto

He lay on the bed, his chest and arms bandaged, covering most of the tattoos I so admired. They had removed his piercings, and a sheet covered his legs, so I didn't know if he had injuries to the lower part of his body.

A superficial, elongated cut crossed his left cheek. He remained connected to an IV drip, and there was a smear of soot on his forehead that hadn't been cleaned.

As soon as he saw me peek in, he whispered my name. His voice was barely audible, affected by the smoke inhalation that had damaged his vocal cords.

I walked over to him and took his hands.

"Shhh, don't speak, relax, we're here now." He lifted my hand with a pained gesture and brought it to his lips to kiss it tenderly. You have no idea how much that kiss stung.

"Dante?" I remained calm. If he had pulled him out of that inferno, he probably knew much better than us just how bad it was. I wasn't going to lie to him.

"They're doing everything they can to save him, the doctor says you were a hero."

A hint of mockery flashed in his eyes. As if what I had just told him was a tasteless joke, rather than a compliment.

"Who did it, Romeo?" his father asked pointedly. "Cheng?"

Romeo shook his head, and before he could answer, the police knocked on the door.

It was a pair of officers, one younger than the other. They did a visual sweep before addressing Romeo.

They apologized for the intrusion but said they needed to ask some questions for the investigation into what had happened.

We mentioned that R could barely speak, and they noted that they would take this into account when formulating their questions.

When they introduced themselves, I recognized Segarra, the homicide cop who worked for Romeo. I knew it was him from the almost imperceptible glance he gave my husband, which surely no one else but me noticed. Besides, the name was the same. How many Miguel Segarras could there be in the homicide unit? I guessed there was only one.

They limited themselves to yes or no questions so he could answer with a simple nod of his head.

That's how we learned that the person responsible for the fire was Jonás Sánchez, the journalist who had been a thorn in our side over the Mentium issue and who had calmed down quite a bit when we showed him all the clinical trial documents.

It didn't make sense that the journalist had done something like this without reason.

That's when I discovered that the probable cause of his mental derangement, which had led him to self-immolate and attempt to take Romeo and Dante with him, was the death of his son.

The boy, just fifteen years old, had jumped from a rooftop while participating in a challenge on an app after supposedly ingesting Mentium.

My head was spinning. How could he have taken one of those pills if I had withdrawn them all from the market?

"It's impossible," I interrupted the officers. "There must be a mistake. The drug was withdrawn from the market; he couldn't have taken that pill."

"And you are...?" asked Segarra's partner, showing interest in me.

"Nikita Koroleva, owner of Korpe, the pharmaceutical company responsible for Mentium, and Romeo's wife."

The man, about fifty, looked at me intently.

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am, I've heard a lot about you." That didn't sound good. "You're in our line of investigation."

"Your line of investigation? Regarding what?"

"If you don't mind, I'd prefer to answer that question at the station and, of course, have you answer mine."

"You will not answer anything without our lawyer present," intervened my father-in-law. I hated when they answered for me. As if I were a damn puppet.

"I have nothing to hide, Massimo," I replied, challenging the policeman with my gaze. "What do you want to know?"

"Better at the station, where I can record everything on my computer, if you don't mind," he offered with feigned kindness. "If circumstances allow, it would be good if you could come by later, so we can take your statement."

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