Chapter 5 - Playing the Fool
The hardest part for Massimo was not the physical pain of his nerves healing. The hardest part was playing the fool. Every day, he sat in his wheelchair, acting weaker and more depressed. He slurred his words slightly. He complained of chest pains. Dean and Camille fell for it completely. They grew careless, arrogant in their impending victory. One afternoon, while Massimo was pretending to doze in the garden under the warm sun, Dean and Camille walked nearby, thinking he was fast asleep. "The wedding needs to happen by the end of the month," Dean said quietly, lighting a cigar. "I'm wearing a vintage Vera Wang," Camille replied, sounding bored. "How long after the wedding do we have to wait?" "Dr. Hale says his heart is weakening. A month or two after you're married, he'll have a massive, tragic heart attack in his sleep." "And as his widow, I inherit his personal shares," Camille smiled. "Which I immediately transfer to you, the new Don." "Exactly. And you get your fifty million and your freedom."
Behind his dark sunglasses, Massimo’s eyes were wide open, burning with a lethal fire. He listened to his fiancée and his best friend plot his murder. The betrayal cut deep, but the anger fueled him. It gave him the strength he needed for the nights. Every night at 2:00 AM, the cameras in the west wing experienced a "glitch" for exactly one hour. Carla had figured out how to loop the security footage using a trick she learned from the estate's former IT guy. During that hour, she sneaked into Massimo's room. The rehabilitation was brutal. Because he hadn't used his legs in six months, his muscles had atrophied. Carla would stand in front of him, bracing his knees with hers, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "Push," she would whisper fiercely. "Come on, Massimo. Push." He would grit his teeth, sweat pouring down his face, as he forced his legs to bear his weight. He collapsed often, dragging them both to the thick carpet. But Carla never complained. She just helped him back up.
During those agonizing midnight sessions, something shifted between them. Massimo realized that in his entire life of wealth and power, he had never met anyone as genuine as Carla. She didn't care about his money or his mafia title. She was fighting for him simply because it was the right thing to do. One night, as he successfully stood unassisted for ten seconds, he collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily. Carla wiped his forehead with a damp cloth. "You're getting stronger," she smiled, her face inches from his. Massimo looked at her soft lips, her determined eyes. He reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you, Carla." "Just get well," she whispered, her cheeks flushing pink. "And keep Nina safe." "I promise you," he said softly. "When this is over, you will never have to wash another floor or serve another drink. You will be a queen." Carla quickly looked away, gathering the towels, her heart pounding. She was just a maid. She couldn't afford to dream.
