Chapter 2: The Nerve That Should Have Been Dead
Chapter 2: The Nerve That Should Have Been Dead
The instant Clare's thumb dug into the hardened knot beneath Sebastian Lombardi's left shoulder blade, the room changed.
Sebastian jerked violently.
A sharp gasp escaped his lips.
Not from pain.
From shock.
For the first time in twenty years, he had felt something.
The sensation raced down his spine like a bolt of electricity.
His fingers clenched the armrests of the wheelchair.
The fire crackled loudly in the silence.
Gabriel took a step forward.
"What happened?"
Sebastian ignored him.
His eyes were locked on Clare.
"What did you just do?"
Clare didn't answer immediately.
Her fingertips continued tracing the damaged muscles surrounding his old injury.
Years of experience had taught her to trust what she felt.
And what she felt made absolutely no sense.
The tissue around the damaged vertebrae was scarred.
That part was expected.
But beneath the scar tissue, hidden deep inside layers of muscle and fascia, something else was there.
Something unnatural.
Something hard.
Metal.
Her heartbeat accelerated.
"Who performed your original surgery?" she asked quietly.
Sebastian's expression darkened.
"A team of specialists."
"Names."
"I don't remember."
"That's impossible."
The crime boss's jaw tightened.
Gabriel moved closer.
"Careful."
Clare looked directly at him.
"No."
The word surprised even herself.
"If you want answers, let me work."
The room fell silent.
After several tense seconds, Sebastian gave a small nod.
"Continue."
Clare pressed again.
This time she followed the strange pathway beneath the scar tissue.
Suddenly Sebastian's entire body stiffened.
A violent tremor shot through his right leg.
Gabriel's eyes widened.
The guards near the door exchanged stunned looks.
For twenty years those legs had been completely motionless.
Now one of them had moved.
Only an inch.
But it moved.
Sebastian looked down.
His breathing became shallow.
"No..."
Clare stepped back.
"Move your foot."
The billionaire crime boss laughed bitterly.
"I can't."
"Try."
He stared at her.
Then slowly concentrated.
Nothing happened.
A second passed.
Then another.
And then—
His right foot twitched.
A tiny movement.
Barely visible.
Yet impossible.
Gabriel grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself.
One guard crossed himself.
Another whispered a prayer.
Sebastian looked as though he had seen a ghost.
"What is happening to me?"
Clare's mind raced.
Every medical explanation she knew collided with what she had just witnessed.
A severed spinal cord didn't simply reconnect itself.
Paralyzed muscles didn't suddenly respond after twenty years.
Unless...
Unless they had never been completely disconnected.
She turned back toward the scar.
The hidden object beneath the tissue bothered her.
Deeply.
"Your paralysis may not be what you've been told."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Gabriel's face hardened instantly.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I need imaging."
"We've done imaging."
"Recent imaging."
"We've done hundreds."
"Not by me."
Sebastian studied her carefully.
For the first time all evening, the cynicism in his eyes had disappeared.
Hope had replaced it.
Dangerous hope.
"Suppose you're right," he said slowly.
"Suppose every surgeon who examined me was wrong."
Clare met his gaze.
"Then somebody lied."
The words hit like a gunshot.
Nobody spoke.
Because everyone in that room understood what such a lie would mean.
A man as powerful as Sebastian Lombardi had spent two decades confined to a wheelchair.
If that condition had been engineered...
Then it wasn't an accident.
It was a prison.
And someone had built it deliberately.
Hours later, after Clare had finished the session, Gabriel escorted her toward the waiting SUV.
But before she could leave, Sebastian called out from the shadows.
"Miss Bennett."
She turned.
The crime boss rolled forward until the firelight illuminated his face.
His expression was unreadable.
"If you are wrong, nothing changes."
Clare nodded.
"And if I'm right?"
For several seconds, Sebastian said nothing.
Then a slow smile appeared.
It was not a pleasant smile.
It was the smile of a man whose enemies rarely survived.
"If you're right," he said softly, "an awful lot of people are about to die."
The SUV disappeared into the rain.
Back at her apartment, Clare quietly checked on Oliver.
Her son slept peacefully beside the humming medical machine.
For the first time in months, she allowed herself to feel hope.
The money on her kitchen table would keep the lights on.
The rent would be paid.
Maybe things were finally changing.
Then she noticed something.
The apartment door was slightly open.
Her blood froze.
She distinctly remembered locking it.
Slowly, carefully, she stepped inside.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
Until she reached the kitchen.
A single envelope sat in the center of the table.
No stamp.
No address.
Just her name.
CLARE.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A recent photograph.
Oliver leaving school that morning.
On the back, written in black ink, were six chilling words:
STOP TREATING LOMBARDI OR HE DIES.
Clare's knees nearly buckled.
Someone knew.
Someone had been watching.
May you like
And whoever they were...
They were terrified that Sebastian Lombardi might walk again.
