Chapter 5 - THE POISON IN MY MORNING TEA
I woke up to the steady beep of a heart monitor.
The room was dim, illuminated only by a soft bedside lamp.
I wasn't in my cramped maid’s quarters. I was lying in a massive, four-poster bed draped in heavy silk sheets.
The master suite.
I panicked, immediately throwing my hands down to my swollen stomach.
“The baby,” I gasped, trying to sit up.
A strong hand gently pressed my shoulder back against the pillows.
“The baby is safe.”
I turned my head.
Luca was sitting in a leather armchair beside the bed.
He looked exhausted. His tie was gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes.
“You’ve been unconscious for fourteen hours,” Luca said quietly.
Tears of absolute relief slid down my cheeks.
“My baby is really okay?”
Luca nodded. “Dr. Evans administered the antidote just in time. The poison hadn't crossed the placental barrier yet. But it was close, Anna. Too close.”
I shuddered, pulling the silk blankets tighter around my chest.
“She tried to kill us,” I whispered.
Luca’s expression hardened into something terrifying.
It was the look of a man who ruled Chicago’s underworld. A man who destroyed his enemies without a second thought.
“Vanessa has been feeding you micro-doses of Aconite for weeks,” Luca stated, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “Dr. Evans checked your recent bloodwork from your last checkup. The traces were there. She was slowly building it up in your system, hoping to cause a spontaneous miscarriage so it would look natural.”
My stomach churned.
Every morning for the past month, Vanessa had insisted the kitchen staff prepare a special herbal tea for me. She claimed it was a traditional Italian remedy for pregnancy swelling.
“But last night,” Luca continued, his jaw locking, “she panicked. She knew my brother’s ring was going to expose her. So she gave you a lethal dose, hoping you would die before you could talk.”
I closed my eyes.
I had been living in a house with a monster.
“Where is she?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“She is still locked in the guest house,” Luca said. “But she isn’t alone.”
Before I could ask what he meant, the heavy bedroom door opened.
Marcus, the scarred head of security, stepped inside.
“Boss,” Marcus said, his voice gruff. “She’s ready to talk.”
Luca slowly stood up from the armchair.
He looked down at me, his expression softening for just a fraction of a second.
“Rest, Anna. Nobody will hurt you in this room. I have guards stationed outside the door and below the windows.”
“What are you going to do to her?” I asked.
Luca didn’t answer right away.
He buttoned the cuffs of his shirt, adjusting his sleeves with chilling precision.
“I am going to get a confession,” Luca said simply. “And then I am going to erase her from this earth.”
He turned and walked out of the room, Marcus following closely behind him.
The door clicked shut, locking from the outside.
I lay alone in the massive bed, listening to the steady beep of the heart monitor.
I should have felt safe.
But something was wrong.
Something Marcus had done right before the door closed.
He had looked at me.
Not with pity. Not with anger.
But with a cold, hollow deadness.
I pushed myself up against the headboard, wincing at the dull ache still lingering in my veins.
I looked over at the bedside table.
Luca had left the manila folder from the safe sitting next to the lamp.
I reached over and pulled it onto my lap.
I opened it, flipping past the bank transfers and the photograph of Vanessa with Victor Romano.
At the very bottom of the stack was a folded piece of paper I hadn't seen in the study.
I opened it.
It was a child’s drawing.
Crayon on construction paper. Faded and old.
It was a drawing of two little boys standing next to a tall, dark-haired man.
At the bottom, in messy, childish handwriting, it said:
To Uncle Victor. From Michael.
My breath caught in my throat.
Uncle Victor.
Victor Romano wasn’t just a rival syndicate leader.
He was family.
He was Luca and Michael’s uncle on their mother's side.
My hands began to shake uncontrollably.
If Victor Romano was their uncle... then the betrayal ran deeper than a planted fiancée.
I flipped the drawing over.
On the back, written recently in Michael’s frantic handwriting in blue ink, were three sentences.
Vanessa didn’t cut the brakes on my car.
She doesn't know how.
Check the security logs for Marcus.
The room suddenly felt incredibly small.
Marcus.
The man who had just walked out of the room with Luca.
The man who was supposed to be guarding my door.
Vanessa hadn’t acted alone in this house. She had a partner.
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And Luca had just walked right into a trap.
TITLE: THE TRAITOR STANDING BEHIND HIS CHAIR
