At that moment Doctor Derrick cleared his throat and pulled out a brown file from the drawer. His face was calm, but his eyes carried the weight of bad news.
"Like I said earlier while she was still in coma, Sir," he began carefully, "your daughter has partial amnesia. From what I see, it looks severe. For now, I can't really state the exact extent until I get the new scan results from the nurse. But…" He paused, looking at Don Pedro with quiet concern. "Judging from other cases we've handled, there's a chance she might never remember anything from her past."
Don Pedro who was now seated, leaned back in the chair, a faint sigh escaping his lips. Relief flickered strangely across his face, as though the words were not a loss, but a gift.
"That's fair enough," he said flatly, reaching into the back pocket of his trousers. His fingers closed around a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and placed it between his lips, searching for his lighter.
Doctor Derrick's brow furrowed. "The Sir," he said respectfully but firmly, "I thought we agreed—no more of this."
Don Pedro froze mid-strike of the lighter and turned his head slowly toward the doctor. His voice was low, but every syllable carried weight. "No one tells the Don what to do. I do as I please."
Derrick kept his eyes steady. "I'm only saying this because keeping those sticks away will give you more time… more time with your daughter here on earth."
A smirk pulled at the corner of Don Pedro's mouth, though there was no humor in it. "Argh…" he scoffed. "I hope you don't try to use her as bait next time to stop me. I receive orders from no one."
Without warning, he pressed the burning end of the cigarette against the edge of the doctor's laptop, snuffing it out. The sharp scent of burnt paper filled the air.
Derrick swallowed hard, his throat tightening. He knew this man. Silence was sometimes the only way to survive in Don Pedro's presence.
Derrick tried again, speaking slowly, choosing each word like stepping stones across a river. "Your daughter's memory loss can be helped… maybe even reversed… if she is taken to familiar places, shown familiar faces. These triggers might—"
Hearing what Derrick just said, the sound of Don Pedro's palm slamming against the table cut him off. The file jumped, and Derrick instinctively straightened in his chair.
"No!" Don Pedro's voice was thunder. "That will not be necessary. From now on, I will teach her what she needs to know. Whatever she knew in the past… is worthless!"
His breathing grew heavier, his broad chest rising and falling. He sniffed once, his eyes narrowing into a glare so sharp it could cut glass.
Derrick met that gaze only for a second before looking down at the file again. "If that is your wish," he said softly.
"My wish?" Don Pedro leaned forward, his tone almost mocking. "No, Doctor. This is not a wish. This is the law."
The room was heavy with silence, the faint hum of the ceiling fan the only sound.
After a moment, Don Pedro rose from his chair, his movements deliberate. "Prepare whatever she needs for discharge. The mansion has been too quiet for years."
Derrick gave a slight nod. "Yes, Sir."
"That's by the way," Don Pedro said, sitting back in his chair. His tone was calm, but there was an edge in his eyes that made the air heavier. "Now… I want you to erase from your memory the night you saw her. I mean, the night you saved her life."
Doctor Derrick blinked, unsure he'd heard correctly. "I… I don't understand, Sir," he muttered, his voice cautious.
Don Pedro's lips curled into a cold half-smile. "Easy, boy. Don't be in such a hurry. I'll make you understand." He shifted forward, resting his elbows on the table, and locked his gaze on Derrick. The stare was deliberate, pressing against Derrick's nerves.
"I am grateful," Don Pedro continued slowly, "forever grateful, that you saved my daughter's life. But no ear" he tapped the table with each word.
"must hear of it. Each ear that hears it… will be cut off. You know what I'm capable of, Dr. Derrick Stallone. Don't test me."
The doctor's throat tightened. He sat stiffly, his palms damp against his knees.
"And don't think," the Don went on, voice dropping lower, "that just because you know certain things about me now, it makes me weak. I am the Don, no leave, no transfer." He straightened with pride, the title rolling off his tongue like an oath.
Derrick forced himself to speak. "Iunderstand, sir."
"Good," Don Pedro said, his tone softening slightly but his eyes still sharp. "After all this is over, I don't want you anywhere near my daughter unless I say so. You saving her life is our little secret. You will tell her only what I ask you to. You will get close to her only when I allow it."
The words sank into Derrick's mind. He swallowed hard. Who was he to challenge a man like Don Pedro? Even the police and the government kept their distance from this man.
"Noted, sir," Derrick said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The Don's lips twisted into a wicked smile. Then, unexpectedly, he extended his hand. "We have a deal, Derrick."
Derrick hesitated, staring at the outstretched hand as though it were a snake ready to strike. But he knew refusing would be worse. Slowly, he took the Don's hand. The grip was strong too strong like it was meant to remind him who was in control. Derrick nodded once.
Don Pedro's deep, satisfied laugh rolled through the office, but there was no warmth in it. He rose to his feet, straightening his suit jacket with a slow, deliberate motion. He turned toward the door, then paused, his back still to the doctor.
"That makes two of my secrets with you now," he said over his shoulder.
Derrick frowned slightly, though he didn't dare to say a word.
The Don glanced back, his eyes like burning coals. "I could easily… end you… to keep them sealed forever. But no." His tone shifted to a chilling calm. "I'll trust you not to be a fool."