Chapter 3 Three

• POV Marco:
• From my wheelchair I watch the arrival of the black car. My sister's fiancé, Antonio Ricci's son, has just arrived. I rest my hands on the wheels and move closer to the window, I've heard so much about him that I can't wait to see him.
• My father believes that I am harmless, an invalid who poses no threat and is of no use. That's precisely why I see things that others don't notice. And there is something about this Isidro Ricci that doesn't add up from the very first moment.
• The driver opens the back door and Isidro Ricci gets out. He is tall, but not as tall as I expected. His black suit is perfectly cut, hiding the details of his physique. He walks with measured steps towards the entrance of our mansion.
• "Marco, come say hello to our guest," my father calls from the hallway.
• I turn my chair around and head down the hall. My father doesn't know that I could get up and walk if I wanted to. In fact, no one does. That's my biggest secret, my advantage.
• In the lobby, my father and my sister Sofia stand waiting. She looks like a porcelain doll, with her light blue dress and gentle expression. Always obedient, always perfect in my father's eyes. I stand next to them in silence.
• The front door opens and the butler announces, "Mr. Isidro Ricci."
• Up close, I notice details that I could not appreciate before. His hands are small for a man in his position. His jaw, though defined, lacks the hardness typical of men in our organization. His green eyes scan the room with calculated caution.
• "Welcome to our home," my father says, extending his hand. "It is a pleasure to formalize our alliance."
• "The pleasure is mine," Ricci replies. His voice is gravelly, but there is something artificial in his tone. As if every word is rehearsed.
• My father introduces him: "My daughter, Sofia, your fiancée."
• Sofia takes a small bow. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ricci."
• Ricci takes her hand and kisses it briefly. The gesture is precise and mechanical, like everything about him. "The charm is mine, Miss Castellano."
• "And my son, Marco," my father says with a tone that betrays his disinterest.
• Ricci looks at me. For an instant, our eyes meet. I lean forward slightly in my chair.
• "My pleasure," I say, extending my hand.
• He hesitates for a second before squeezing her. His grip is firm but not crushing, like that of most men trying to demonstrate their strength. Kind of interesting, I'd say.
• "Likewise," he replies, quickly releasing my hand.
• "Marco had an accident two years ago," my father explains unnecessarily. "His spinal cord was damaged. A tragedy."
• I detect the usual lie in his words. My father never considered my "accident" a tragedy. It was an inconvenience, a blemish on his perfect lineage.
• "I'm sorry," Ricci says.
• "Don't be sorry," I reply. "It's given me a new perspective on life."
• My father gives me a warning look. He doesn't like it when I talk like that, with double meanings. Or when I talk too much in general.
• "Martina will show you your room," my father says, pointing to the housekeeper. "Dinner will be served at eight o'clock."
• Ricci nods and follows the woman. I watch his gait as he walks up the stairs. His posture is rigid, as if he is aware of every movement. Men in his position usually move with a careless confidence, sure of their power. He seems to be constantly watching himself.
• "Don't make him uncomfortable with your questions, Marco," my father warns as Ricci disappears from sight.
• "I'm just being nice," I reply with feigned innocence.
• "You're never just nice." My father approaches. "This agreement is crucial. Sofia will marry him, the families will be united, and our position will be unbreakable."
• "What if he turns out not to be who he says he is?" I ask.
• My father frowns. "What do you mean?"
• "Nothing specific. It's just a feeling."
• "Your feelings don't interest me, his damn last name does," my father cuts in. "Stay out of it."
• He leaves with Sofia, leaving me alone in the lobby. I smile to myself. Out of it, on the sidelines, is exactly where I can observe best.
• I move my chair to the elevator my father installed after my "accident". I use it to go up to the second floor, where my room is. Once inside, I lock the door.
• I get up from the chair. My legs work perfectly. I walk to the window and look out at the gardens. The recovery was slow and painful, but complete. I decided to keep it a secret when I realized the power it gave me. My father ignores me as weak, and his enemies don't even detect me as a threat.
• And now we have this mysterious Isidro Ricci under our roof. There is something about him that intrigues me deeply. The way he moves, talks and observes everything around him, as if he were playing a role.
• I return to my chair. From here, I can move freely around the house without arousing suspicion. Everyone is used to the invalid son wandering the halls, listening to conversations, observing meetings. I am invisible.
• Isidro Ricci has a secret. I know because I have mine too, and I can recognize the look of someone who is hiding something important.
• I don't know what exactly he is hiding, but I will find out. I have time and patience. The advantage of everyone underestimating you is that they never see your moves coming.
• My father believes he has brought this man here to secure an alliance and save his business. Little does he know that he has just handed me a new project, a puzzle to solve.
• And I always solve my puzzles.