Chapter 6 - The Blue Pill In The Tea
The silence on the speakerphone was absolute.
I stared at the glowing screen on the center console of the SUV, the streetlights flashing over it as we sped down the highway.
My heart hammered in my chest.
For four years, I had blamed myself. I had analyzed every meal I ate, every step I took, agonizing over what I had done wrong to cause the miscarriage at sixteen weeks.
“What did you put in my tea?” I demanded again, my voice rising in a panic that felt like clawing my way out of a grave.
David’s breath hitched over the line.
“Claire, you’re hysterical,” he stammered, his voice tight. “You lost the baby because you’re weak. The doctor said your body rejected it.”
Alessandro slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
“Marco,” the Mafia boss barked into the phone. “Break his fingers. Starting with the thumb.”
“Wait! No!” David screamed.
A sickening, wet crack echoed through the speaker, followed by an agonizing wail that made me flinch.
“Talk,” Alessandro commanded, his voice devoid of any mercy.
David was sobbing uncontrollably now, gasping for air between the pain.
“I didn’t want to do it!” David cried out. “But the Volkovs were demanding their first payment! I owed them two hundred thousand dollars, Claire! I had to pull it from our savings, but you wanted to use the money for the nursery! You were going to notice the missing funds!”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“You killed my baby over money?” I whispered, the horror of his words paralyzing me.
“I didn’t kill it!” David sobbed. “I just... I crushed a few misoprostol pills. The ones they use to induce labor. I put them in your chamomile tea. I just needed you to go to the hospital so you’d be distracted while I wired the money to the Russians! The doctor said it was a natural miscarriage!”
I dropped the silver locket. It clattered against the floorboard of the SUV.
He poisoned me.
The man who had held my hand in the ambulance, who had wiped my tears as I woke up to an empty womb, was the one who had murdered my child.
And then, he had kept the ultrasound picture in a locket, not out of grief, but as a sick trophy of his success.
“You monster,” I breathed. The word wasn’t loud, but it carried the weight of eleven years of destroyed life.
Alessandro reached over and ended the call, cutting off David’s pathetic crying.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t offer me platitudes or tell me it was going to be okay. He just drove, his face a hard, terrifying mask of lethal intent.
I looked down at Samuel, who was finally stirring in his car seat. He let out a soft cry, his tiny fists waving in the air.
I unbuckled my seatbelt, reached down, and lifted him into my arms. I pressed his warm little body against my chest, burying my face in his soft hair, and I wept. I wept for the baby I lost, and I wept for the miracle I was holding.
Ten minutes later, the SUV pulled through a pair of heavy iron gates.
We were in the Gold Coast district, pulling up to a massive, modern stone mansion overlooking Lake Michigan. It was a fortress. High walls, security cameras, and armed men standing in the shadows.
“This is my primary residence,” Alessandro said as he put the car in park. “No one gets in without my permission. You’re safe here.”
He got out, opened my door, and grabbed the duffel bag of Volkov money from the back seat.
I followed him up the wide stone steps, holding Samuel tightly.
The front doors opened before we reached them. An older woman with sharp eyes and perfectly coiffed silver hair stood in the foyer. She wore a tailored black dress and a severe expression.
“Alessandro,” she said, her eyes instantly dropping to the baby in my arms. “Elena called me in hysterics. She said you stole her child.”
“Mother,” Alessandro said smoothly, stepping past her. “This is Claire Morgan. Samuel’s biological mother.”
He didn’t stop to explain. He led me through the opulent foyer, down a long hallway lined with expensive art, and into a massive, state-of-the-art kitchen.
He pointed to a barstool. “Sit. You need water.”
I sat down, exhausted to my bones. Samuel had fallen asleep again against my shoulder.
Alessandro’s mother followed us into the kitchen, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
“Have you lost your mind?” she demanded, glaring at her son. “You brought a civilian into this house? With Volkov money in your hand?”
She pointed a manicured finger at the black duffel bag Alessandro had tossed onto the island counter.
“The Volkovs are already involved, Rosa,” Alessandro said coldly. “David Morgan laundered their money through his wife’s name. Victor Volkov broke into her house tonight to kill her.”
Rosa Valenti’s eyes widened slightly. “And where is Victor now?”
“Bleeding out on her kitchen floor,” Alessandro replied nonchalantly as he poured a glass of water and handed it to me.
Rosa closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. “You shot a Volkov boss. The Commission will call a sit-down by tomorrow morning. This means war, Alessandro.”
“Let it mean war,” Alessandro snarled, slamming his fist onto the counter. “David Morgan used my sister as an incubator for a stolen embryo, and tried to murder this woman to cover up his theft from the Russians. I’m not handing her over to fix his mess.”
Rosa looked at me. Really looked at me.
Her severe expression didn’t soften, but the anger in her eyes shifted to something resembling curiosity.
“Elena is completely broken,” Rosa said quietly. “She believes this child is hers.”
“He’s not,” I said.
My voice was raspy, but I didn’t look away from the matriarch of the Valenti family. I tightened my grip on Samuel.
“I didn’t ask for your family’s help,” I told her, my chin held high. “I didn’t ask your son to shoot anyone. But this baby is mine. My husband stole him from me, just like he stole my savings and my home. And I will walk through fire before I let another woman raise him.”
Rosa stared at me for a long, heavy moment.
Then, she gave a slow, approving nod.
“You have spine,” she noted. “Good. You’ll need it.”
She turned back to Alessandro.
“The Commission meeting will be at noon tomorrow at the Palmer House,” Rosa stated flatly. “The Volkovs will demand blood for Victor. If you don’t hand over David Morgan and the two million dollars, they will ask the Commission for permission to hit you.”
Alessandro crossed his arms. “I’m bringing David to the sit-down. They can have him.”
“That won’t be enough,” Rosa warned. “David is a nobody. The Volkovs will want collateral to ensure the rest of their money is returned. They’ll want the LLC.”
I froze.
Morgan Holdings. The company David had put entirely in my name.
“They can’t have the LLC,” Alessandro said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “I’ve already cleared the debt. Claire owns the properties free and clear.”
Rosa raised an eyebrow. “You used Valenti money to clear a civilian’s debt?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Alessandro didn’t answer right away. He looked at me, sitting exhausted on the barstool, clutching my stolen child.
“Because it was the right thing to do,” he said quietly.
Rosa scoffed. “The Commission doesn’t care about the right thing. They care about leverage. If Claire’s name is on that LLC, the Volkovs will demand she be handed over to them until the debt is paid.”
Panic flared in my chest again. “I won’t go with them. I don’t know anything about their money!”
“You won’t have to,” Alessandro promised, stepping closer to me.
He looked at his mother.
“The Volkovs can’t demand Claire as collateral,” Alessandro stated firmly.
Rosa frowned. “Why not?”
Alessandro reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, folded document. He tossed it onto the marble counter.
“Because under the laws of the Commission, a rival family cannot touch the wife of a sitting Boss,” Alessandro said.
Rosa stared at the document.
I stared at it too.
It was a marriage license.
And at the bottom, already signed in crisp black ink, was Alessandro Valenti’s name.
The space next to it was blank. Waiting for me.
I looked up at him, my heart stopping entirely.
“You want me to marry you?” I whispered, horrified.
Alessandro held my gaze, his eyes intense and unyielding.
“I want you to survive tomorrow,” he corrected me.
Before I could process the absolute insanity of his demand, the heavy kitchen doors swung open.
Marco, the security chief, rushed in. He looked completely panicked, a rare sight for a hardened mob enforcer.
“Boss,” Marco gasped, out of breath. “We have a massive problem.”
Alessandro’s jaw clenched. “Did David try to run?”
“No,” Marco said, his face pale. “David is dead.”
The kitchen went dead silent.
“What?” Alessandro demanded. “I told you to break his fingers, not kill him!”
“I didn’t kill him!” Marco yelled, throwing his hands up. “I left him chained to the chair in the basement safe house while I came here to report!”
“Then how is he dead?” Rosa snapped.
Marco looked terrified.
“Someone broke into the safe house ten minutes ago,” Marco said, his voice trembling. “They shot David in the head. And they left something on his chest.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, clear plastic evidence bag.
He handed it to Alessandro.
Inside the bag was a little blue sweater with a crooked white star.
My mother’s sweater. The one Elena had taken from Samuel before she handed him to me.
I felt the room spin.
“Elena,” I whispered, horrified.
“My sister didn’t do this,” Alessandro said, staring at the sweater with a terrifying realization. “She doesn’t know where the safe house is.”
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He looked at his mother, his face draining of color.
“Someone inside this family just murdered my prisoner,” Alessandro said. “And they used the baby’s sweater to frame Claire.”
