Page 35 of Scar

“Cocaine,” I repeat, shocked by the revelation. It's absurd to even consider that my father, who strongly condemned drugs, would be involved with them. He never even touched the stuff, let alone dealt with it.

“Following that, he was given a continuous dose of propofol which resulted in a comatose state. Ultimately, this drug would have killed him.”

“How was this not detected?” Scar demands, glaring at my mother with anger.

I know without a doubt that she would never harm him in any way. Not my mother. I turn to her, frightened and confused. She stands from her chair and points an accusing finger at my husband.

“How dare you!” she snaps. “How dare you suggest that I could do something like this to my own husband!”

My mother is just the right amount of furious for me to know that she's deeply offended by the accusation, despite it only being implied instead of spoken aloud.

“Who had frequent access to him?”

“His doctor. The nurse. The staff. And myself.”

She winces, realizing how bad it sounds even as she speaks the words.

“Based on the dosages, it seems likely that it was someone familiar with medical procedures. A medic, perhaps? It was done so skillfully that no one would have noticed unless they knew what to look for,” explains the doctor.

“It could only have been the doctor or the nurse,” Scar agrees.

“But Doctor Spalding has been our physician since before Allegra was born,” my mother argues.

“What about the nurse?”

“The nurse was recommended by the doctor.”

Scar nods in agreement. We both know that anyone can be bribed. Either one or both were involved.

“Even if it was the nurse, I can't believe that a doctor who has treated you for twenty years wouldn't have noticed his condition or asked the necessary questions,” Scar points out.

My mother pauses to consider this before nodding slowly, her face now creased with worry. She's suddenly agitated, and I know it's because she feels guilty. Why didn't she ask more questions? Get a second opinion? How could a seemingly healthy man suffer a heart attack and fall into a coma without anyone digging deeper to find out why? If it weren't for the attack, Scar may never have had the motivation to investigate further.

“From now on, only my doctor and my specialized team will treat Don Marone,” Scar declares as he storms out of the room. He doesn't wait for a response; we both know he's right. My mother will eventually overcome her guilt, but I cannot wait to have my father back. And I am eagerly anticipating finding out who tried to kill us all so the Gattis can be brought to justice one by one.

CHAPTER 32 – SCAR

The room is dimly lit, the flickering light casting long shadows across the walls, adding to the tense atmosphere. As I stand at the head of the table, my imposing figure dominates the space. Brando, Lucky, and Rafi are gathered around me, their faces displaying intense focus.

My voice is a soft growl that fills the room, targeting every enemy who has ever crossed our path. “Someone dared to attack our family. This is a declaration of all-out war.”

Brando leans in closer, his elbows resting on the table. “This feels different. It was too calculated; they knew our routines and weaknesses.”

Lucky, uncharacteristically serious, looks at each of us as if analyzing our moods before speaking. “I find the timing suspicious,” he says, punctuating his statement with a sly smile.

Immediately, I stand up straighter - my military training kicking in. Lucky has always been able to see things others don’t. “What do you mean?”

He furrows his brow, struggling to articulate his thoughts. “What are the odds that our mother shows up at the same time someone tries to sabotage us?”

As I fall back into the chair, gasping for breath, I keep my thoughts to myself. It's not worth destroying my brothers' illusions. Even though we all have doubts about her, we've still come to the same conclusion. Who am I to go against theirbeliefs? We don't owe her any benefit of the doubt; she stopped being our mother a long time ago.

Rafi, despite being the youngest and least intimidating of us all, nods in agreement. “We can't leave her out as a suspect. Regardless of who she is.”

“Do you think she could have done this alone?” Lucky questions.

Suddenly, Brando's features twist with rage. His eyes narrow as something clicks in his mind. His silence up until now had been controlled, but it erupts now with volcanic intensity. He slams his hand on the table with such force that it echoes through the room. All eyes turn to him as he stands up.

“That fucking whore!” he screams, voice raw with fury. He kicks his chair violently, sending it clattering across the room. The sound rings off the walls as he paces like a caged animal. His face contorts into a mask of pure and unadulterated rage, veins bulging at his temples while his breath comes in ragged bursts.

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