Chapter 6
The first captain I called was Paolo Rizzo.
He arrived furious.
Not because of Lucia.
Because of me.
“You humiliated me in this room three weeks ago.”
“I know.”
“You threw a glass at the wall.”
“I know.”
“You called my question disloyal.”
“I remember.”
Paolo stopped.
I did not defend it.
That mattered.
I continued. “I was in uncontrolled pain. That explains the reaction. It does not excuse it.”
His face changed.
Men in my world were accustomed to apology being a trick.
I gave him none.
Just ownership.
Then I asked, “Who told you afterward that I was losing control?”
Paolo looked toward the closed door where Lucia waited under guard.
“Her.”
“What did she say?”
“That you refused medication.”
I almost laughed.
Of course.
“What else?”
“That you’d become suspicious of everyone. That the attack changed you.”
Paolo looked away.
“She said eventually the family would need someone to protect decisions from your mood.”
“Who?”
No answer.
I waited.
“Lucia and Grant.”
There it was.
Not formal succession.
Not yet.
Protection.
Temporary authority.
Helping the injured boss.
Always soft words first.
“How many men did she approach?”
“Four that I know.”
“Support?”
Paolo shook his head.
“Listening.”
Lucia had mistaken listening for loyalty.
That helped.
Then Paolo said something else.
“She always asked whether you stood during meetings.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because Grant said if you could still stand, nobody would move.”
Silence.
There.
The wheelchair was not the problem.
Visibility was.
They needed men to stop imagining recovery.
A boss in a chair could still lead.
A boss publicly trapped by pain could be replaced.
That was why the spasms mattered.
Not because they weakened me.
May you like
Because they gave others a picture.
Lucia had been curating that picture for weeks.
