Chapter 4 - THE FORGED CHART
The word echoed in my mind, drowning out the shouting and the chaos around us.
Poisoning.
I stared down at my mother. Her eyes were fluttering shut, her breathing growing impossibly faint.
“No,” I whispered, my hands flying to my own face, feeling the hollows of my cheeks, the fatigue deep in my bones. I had thought it was the cancer. I had thought I was just weak. “No, that’s impossible.”
Luca’s medical team burst through the doors, rushing to my mother with a stretcher and oxygen equipment. They carefully lifted her from my arms.
“She’s going into cardiac arrest!” one of the medics shouted. “We need to get her to the estate’s trauma wing immediately.”
“Save her,” Luca commanded, his voice leaving absolutely no room for failure. “If she dies, you answer to me.”
I tried to follow them, but my legs finally gave out. The sheer terror, the physical exhaustion of my illness, and the shock of my mother’s words crushed me. I collapsed onto the floor.
Luca caught me before I hit the hardwood. He lifted me effortlessly into his arms, carrying me out of the dining room and down the quiet, secure hallway toward his private study.
He kicked the door shut and laid me gently on the leather sofa.
Mrs. Carter hurried in a moment later with a glass of water and a warm blanket. She wrapped it around my shoulders, her hands trembling.
“Drink this, sweetheart,” she urged gently.
I pushed the water away. “I need to see my mother. I need to know she’s alive.”
“My doctors are the best in the city,” Luca said softly, kneeling in front of the sofa. “They will stabilize her. But right now, I need you to stay here where it’s safe. Vanessa’s men are going to realize she fled, and Marcus will strike first to protect his secret.”
I looked at him, the reality of my sickness terrifying me more than any mafia war.
“Mr. Moretti,” my voice broke. “The clinic. She said they were poisoning me.”
Luca’s expression hardened. He stood up and walked to his desk, grabbing his phone.
“Marco,” Luca barked into the receiver. “I need the Chief of Oncology from St. Jude’s brought to the estate immediately. Bring a full toxicology lab. And send a strike team to the Riverside Clinic. Seize every file, every computer, and every doctor in that building. If anyone resists, break their legs.”
He hung up and turned back to me.
“We are going to find out exactly what they put in your veins, Emma. And when we do, I will dismantle the Bellini family brick by brick.”
For the next two hours, I lay on the sofa, trembling beneath the blanket. Mrs. Carter sat beside me, gently stroking my arm. Every time my stomach cramped or my head ached, panic surged through me. Was it the cancer killing me, or whatever Marcus Bellini’s doctors had pumped into my bloodstream?
Finally, there was a knock on the door.
A tall man with graying hair and a black medical bag entered. It was Dr. Evans, Luca’s private specialist.
“How is my mother?” I asked, trying to sit up.
“She is stabilized,” Dr. Evans said gently. “She suffered a stress-induced heart attack, but she is resting in the medical wing. She’ll pull through.”
I let out a sob of relief, burying my face in my hands.
Luca pointed to the medical bag. “Did you run Emma’s blood work?”
Dr. Evans nodded grimly. He walked over to the desk and pulled out a stack of printouts.
“Emma,” Dr. Evans said gently, sitting in the chair across from me. “I reviewed the medical chart you dropped in the dining room, and I cross-referenced it with your fresh blood samples.”
I clutched the blanket tighter. “Do I have cancer?”
“Yes,” Dr. Evans said softly. “The initial diagnosis of early-stage breast cancer was accurate. The biopsy results in your file are real.”
I swallowed hard. “Then what was my mother talking about?”
Dr. Evans looked at Luca, then back to me.
“Emma, the chemotherapy drugs listed on your chart... they are standard, highly effective treatments. If you had been receiving them for the last three months, your tumor would likely be shrinking. Your prognosis would be excellent.”
“But?” Luca demanded, stepping closer.
“But they weren't giving her chemotherapy,” Dr. Evans said, his voice thick with disgust. “I ran a toxicology screen. There is absolutely no trace of those drugs in her system.”
My breath hitched. “Then why did my hair fall out? Why am I so sick?”
Dr. Evans held up a small, clear vial he had pulled from his bag.
“They were injecting you with Thallium,” he said. “A heavy metal poison. In small, controlled doses, it mimics the severe side effects of chemotherapy—hair loss, extreme fatigue, nausea, nerve damage. But it does absolutely nothing to stop the cancer.”
The room went entirely silent.
“They were letting the cancer spread while making you believe you were fighting it,” Dr. Evans finished softly. “Given your timeline, if you had gone to your treatment tomorrow... the dose would have been lethal. It would have looked like your body just finally gave out from the illness.”
I couldn't speak. I just stared at the wall.
They hadn't just tried to fire me. They had orchestrated a slow, agonizing murder, wrapping it in the guise of medical care so no one would ever ask questions.
Vanessa’s cruel words from earlier that evening rang in my head. Perhaps you should stop trying so hard to be treated.
She knew. She knew every time I went to that clinic, I was walking closer to my grave.
A sudden, terrifying rage ignited in my chest. I threw the blanket off and stood up. My legs shook, but I forced myself to stand tall.
“Emma, sit down,” Luca said, reaching for me. “You’re weak.”
“I’m not sitting down,” I said, my voice trembling with a fury I had never felt before. I looked at Luca. “Marcus Bellini destroyed my father’s life. He tried to kill my mother tonight. And he made me thank his doctors while they murdered me.”
I reached up and touched the pale-blue scarf on my head.
“I want to see my father,” I said.
Luca frowned. “Emma, your father is in a federal black site. It’s a maximum-security prison for cartel bosses and terrorists. Even I don't know where it is.”
“I do,” a voice said from the doorway.
We all turned.
Standing in the doorway, heavily guarded by two of Luca’s men, was Teresa Moretti. Luca’s elderly mother.
She looked pale, clutching her pearl necklace.
“Mother,” Luca said, surprised. “You should be resting.”
“I couldn't rest,” Teresa said, stepping into the room. She looked at me with deep, sorrowful eyes. “Emma’s mother... Mary... she wasn't the only one keeping a secret twenty-four years ago.”
Luca went rigid. “What do you mean?”
Teresa reached into the bodice of her navy-blue gown. She pulled out a small, brass key attached to a faded ribbon.
“When Arthur Lawson surrendered to the FBI to protect you and your mother,” Teresa confessed, her voice shaking, “he didn't just leave a watch with Mary. He came to me first.”
I stared at her. “You knew my father?”
“He was a good man,” Teresa wept. “He knew Marcus had bought the local police. He knew the only way to keep you safe was to confess to a federal agent outside the city. But he needed leverage to make sure Marcus kept his end of the bargain.”
She handed the brass key to Luca.
“Arthur gave me this key,” Teresa said. “He told me that if Marcus Bellini ever broke the truce and came after his family... I was to give this to you.”
“What does it open?” Luca asked, examining the old key.
“A safety deposit box at the downtown central bank,” Teresa whispered. “It holds the original ledgers. The proof of every politician, judge, and hitman Marcus Bellini ever paid off. It’s enough to burn the entire Bellini syndicate to ashes.”
Luca’s eyes burned with a dangerous fire. He looked at me.
“We get the ledgers,” Luca said. “We destroy Marcus. And we trade the ledgers to the feds for your father’s freedom.”
I nodded, determination hardening in my chest. “Let’s go.”
Before we could move, Luca’s phone rang.
He answered it on speaker.
“Boss,” Marco’s voice cracked through the line. He sounded out of breath. “We hit the Riverside Clinic. But we were too late.”
“What do you mean too late?” Luca demanded.
“Marcus got here first,” Marco said. “The building is empty. The files are gone. But Boss... they left something for you on the front desk.”
“What?”
“It’s a hit contract,” Marco said grimly. “Authorized by the Commission. Marcus told them you went rogue and attacked his daughter unprovoked. He’s placed a ten-million-dollar bounty on your head, Boss.”
May you like
Marco paused, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“And a five-million-dollar bounty on the girl with the blue scarf.”
