Chapter 28 The Doubt
Aria's POV
The package had been sitting on Aria's doorstep for three hours before she got home.
She knew because the timestamp on the delivery confirmation showed 8:47 PM, and her phone now read 11:52 PM. Thirty-six hours into a shift that had ended with her hands buried in Rocco Valente's chest, extracting bullets while trying not to think about the fact that she was saving the life of a man who probably had a body count higher than her patient roster.
The box was small. Plain brown paper, no return address.
Aria kicked off her shoes, dropped her bag, and stared at it for a solid minute before picking it up. Light. Maybe a book. Maybe nothing.
Inside: USB drive, no note.
That should have been her first warning. Anonymous packages didn't come with good news. But exhaustion made people stupid, and Aria had been awake long enough that her judgment was shot to hell.
She plugged the drive into her laptop.
One file. Video. Timestamp: three years ago.
The location made her stomach drop: Sant'Angelo Hospital parking garage, Level B2. Her mother's usual spot.
Aria's finger hovered over the play button. She should delete this. Should throw the entire USB in the trash and pretend it never existed.
She pressed play.
Security footage, grainy and colorless. Night. Her mother's silver sedan sitting alone under flickering lights. A man approached—coveralls, average height, face turned away from the camera. He knelt beside the front wheel. I worked on something. The angle made it impossible to see details, but his movements were deliberate. Practiced.
Thirty seconds later, he stood and walked away.
The timestamp jumped forward. Morning. Her mother's car pulled out. Camilla's face visible through the windshield, checking her phone, laughing at something.
Alive.
The feed cut to news footage. The intersection. The crash. Reporters using words like "tragic" and "brake failure" and "mechanical defect."
Dead.
Aria slammed the laptop shut.
Her hands were shaking. Not the good kind from adrenaline and successful surgery. The bad kind. The kind that came from your entire world tilting sideways.
She opened the laptop again. I watched it twice more. Looking for evidence of editing, of manipulation, of anything that would prove this was fake.
Found nothing obvious.
But that didn't mean it was real. Video could be doctored. Timestamps could be altered. Someone with the right skills could make anything look authentic.
And plenty of people had reasons to make her doubt her father.
Aria grabbed her phone, thumb hovering over Bruno's contact. It was almost midnight. He'd be asleep. This could wait until morning.
Except it couldn't. Because if there was even a chance even the smallest possibility that her mother's death hadn't been an accident, she needed to know.
She dialed.
Bruno answered on the first ring. "Aria?"
Not "hello." Not "is everything all right?" Just her name, alert and focused. Like he'd been waiting for her call.
"I need to ask you something." Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. "And I need you to be honest with me."
Silence. Then: "Of course. What happened?"
"Three years ago. Mama's accident. The police said brake failure. Mechanical defect." Aria closed her eyes. "Was it really an accident?"
The pause lasted three seconds too long.
"Why are you asking me this?" Bruno's voice had changed. Sharper. Be more careful.
"Because someone sent me security footage from the hospital parking garage. The night before she died. There's a man near her car. Working on something."
"What man?"
"I don't know. The angle's bad. But it looks like—" She stopped. Couldn't say it.
"Like sabotage." Bruno finished for her. "Someone tampered with the brakes."
"Yes."
Another pause. Then: "Where did you get this footage?"
"Anonymous package. USB drive. No note."
"And you watched it."
"Of course I watched it." Aria's exhaustion was fraying into irritation. "What was I supposed to do? Ignore it?"
"Yes." The word was flat. Final. "Because whoever sent this is trying to manipulate you. To make you question everything. To turn you against the people who actually care about you."
"So it's fake?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen it." Bruno's tone shifted, becoming almost gentle. "Send me the file. I'll have it analyzed properly. But Aria, listen to me your mother's death was investigated thoroughly. The police, insurance companies, independent mechanics. Everyone concluded the same thing. Brake failure. Manufacturing defect. Toyota recalled that entire model six months later."
Aria knew that. Had researched it obsessively in the weeks after Camilla died. Had needed someone to blame and settled on a faceless corporation that made faulty brake lines.
"But what if they were wrong?" she whispered. "What if someone—"
"Then I would have torn Rome apart finding them." Bruno's voice went cold. Hard. The tone he probably used in business negotiations. "Do you think I would have rested if there was even a possibility someone had killed your mother? Do you think I wouldn't have used every resource, every connection, every bit of power I have to get justice?"
"No. But—"
"But nothing. Someone is playing games with you. Probably one of my competitors. Maybe someone who lost a major acquisition to me recently. These people, they don't fight fair. They go after families. Loved ones. They find your weakness and they exploit it."
It made sense. Her father dealt in high-stakes art sales. Millions of euros changed hands. That kind of money made enemies.
"I'm sending you the file," Aria said.
"Good. And Aria? Don't watch it again. Don't analyze it. Don't obsess over it. Let me handle this."
"I'm a surgeon. I don't just hand over problems and hope someone else fixes them."
"I know. It's one of the things I admire most about you." Bruno's voice softened. "But this isn't a patient on your operating table. This is someone trying to hurt you by making you doubt the people who love you. And I won't let them succeed."
After they hung up, Aria sent the file. Then she sat on her couch, still in blood-stained scrubs, and stared at the ceiling.
Her father was right. This had to be manipulation. Some business rivals try to destabilize Bruno by attacking his daughter.
But that man in the video. His movements. The timing.
It looked real.
Her phone buzzed. Text from Bruno: Received. My security team will analyze it. Get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow.
Then another message: I'm having additional security installed at your apartment tomorrow. Cameras in the hallway. Just a precaution. No arguments.
Aria should have protested. Should have said she didn't need a babysitter.
Instead, she typed: Okay.
Because maybe she was being paranoid. Maybe the exhaustion was making her see threats that didn't exist.
Or maybe someone was watching her. Targeting her. Trying to destroy her relationship with the only family she had left.
Either way, she wasn't safe.
And she had no idea who to trust.