My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 739

Chapter 739

Money?

No.

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Loyalty?

Impossible.

Men like Giovanni didn’t rescue strangers out of compassion.

Blackmail?

Maybe.

But if all he needed was leverage, there were easier people to own than someone sentenced to die.

I opened another screen, started building possibilities.

Illegal surgery.

Organ trafficking.

Identity changes.

Plastic surgery for fugitives.

Off-the-books medical treatment.

Experimental pharmaceuticals.

Chemical manufacturing.

Human testing.

Counterfeit medications.

Biological research.

The list kept growing. Each theory looked possible for about ten seconds, then fell apart because any doctor could do this for the right price, and none of them justified this level of secrecy, none of them justified giving a dead serial killer an entirely new life.

None of them explained why every shipment arriving on that island contained sedatives and muscle blockers.

I looked at the notes I’d taken from the courier. There was no food deliveries worth mentioning, no medical equipment. Just prescription drugs, large quantities of them, regular shipments.

Then something caught my eye.

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The deliveries had stopped completely two years ago. The shipments had stopped, the drugs had stopped. Then, six months ago…

They started again, regular and consistent. As if someone had simply picked up where they’d left off.

My fingers tapped slowly against the desk. Sedatives, and muscle relaxants. None of those were unusual but together… They painted a different picture.

Control.

I didn’t like that thought.

Whatever connected Giovanni and that doctor… It wasn’t recent. It had started long before Gianna was

ever born.

I leaned back in my chair, took off my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose, “Why would you need him?”

The words disappeared into the empty room.

Giovanni wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t collect dangerous people for amusement. Everything he did had a purpose. Every person around him earned their place.

So why keep a convicted serial killer alive?

I opened another window.

Neurology?

Psychiatry?

Behavioral modification?

Experimental medicine?

Rehabilitation?

Genetics?

One possibility after another filled the screen, none of them strong enough to become fact.

I hated assumptions.

Assumptions got people killed.

Facts won wars.

I closed every theory, there wasn’t enough evidence, not yet.

My thoughts went back to Vincenzo. He moved through the house like a man carrying a weight no one

else could see. Claire was the only person he spoke to for more than a few words.

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Even his children couldn’t pull him out of it.

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