Chapter 4 - THE RAT IN THE CELLAR
The discovery changed everything.
The decanter itself was clean; the poison was being introduced through the glassware. That meant whoever set the tray, cleaned the room, or brought the glasses into the master suite was the executioner.
“Who washes the glassware for this room?” I asked, turning to Dante.
Dante was staring at the milky white test tube on the bedside table, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “The maid, Elena. She’s been with the family for twenty years. Her husband died in my service in the nineties.”
“Where is she now?”
“She lives in the quarters above the garage,” Dante said. “She comes up every morning at seven to clear the tray and bring fresh linens.”
“Does anyone else have access to the butler’s pantry on this floor?”
“Vincent,” Dante replied immediately. “He holds the master key to every lock in this house. And Leo keeps spare keys in his office on the first floor.”
I paced across the Persian rug, my mind racing through the chemical properties of the poison. “The coating on that glass was fresh. Arsenic trioxide powder suspended in a thin evaporation agent—likely pure grain alcohol. When the scotch is poured, the alcohol dissolves, mixing the powder invisibly into the liquor. It takes two minutes to set up. Whoever prepped that glass did it right before Matteo came upstairs.”
Dante swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was still weak, his movements clumsy, but the sheer force of his willpower was forcing his body to obey. “We pull Elena in here. We make her talk.”
“No,” I said sharply. “If Elena is involved and we grab her now, whoever is directing her will know they’ve been burned. They won't wait for the poison to finish you. They’ll pull out a gun and put a bullet through your head before you can reach the front gate.”
Dante looked at me, a cold smile touching his lips. “You think fast for a girl who sells lavender tea.”
“I sell plants that can heal or kill depending on the dose, Mr. Moretti,” I said coldly. “Botany is just slow chemistry. Now sit back down before you faint.”
A quiet knock sounded on the balcony doors at the far end of the bedroom.
Dante’s hand instantly went under his pillow, pulling out a sleek black semi-automatic pistol. He held it down by his thigh, his eyes fixed on the heavy glass doors that opened onto the second-story terrace.
The curtain twitched. A figure pressed against the glass, waving a hand urgently.
It was Elena.
I looked at Dante, who gave me a sharp nod. I walked across the room, unlocked the latch, and pulled the balcony door open just enough for her to slip inside.
The old woman was trembling, her hands wrapped in a stained linen apron. Her gray hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and her skin was pale with terror.
“Ms. Rossi,” she whispered, her voice shaking violently. “Please... is he alive?”
“He’s alive, Elena,” I said quietly, stepping back to let her see Dante sitting on the edge of the bed.
Elena collapsed to her knees beside the bed, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks. “Dante... thank God. Thank God.”
Dante didn't soften. He lowered the gun slightly, but his tone was icy. “Why are you coming through the window, Elena?”
“They’re watching the hallway,” she sobbed, clutching Dante’s knee. “Vincent’s men. They locked the butler’s pantry from the outside after Mr. Matteo went downstairs. They told me if I came back up to this floor today, they would shoot me.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”
“Vincent,” she stammered. “He... he came to my quarters three days ago. He showed me pictures of my grandson in Brooklyn. He told me if I didn't swap the glass on your scotch tray every morning, my boy wouldn't make it home from school.”
I felt a surge of cold fury in my chest. “He gave you the powder?”
Elena shook her head frantically. “No! He gave me the glasses! Pre-wrapped in velvet napkins. He said it was medicine to help him sleep peaceful. But I knew... I knew it was poison! I tried to break one yesterday, but Vincent was standing right outside the door!”
Dante reached out, his big hand resting gently on top of the old woman’s head. The terrifying crime boss vanished for a brief moment, replaced by a man looking at a loyal servant who had been trapped in a nightmare.
“It’s okay, Elena,” Dante said softly. “You did what you had to do for your family. Where are the rest of the glasses?”
“In the cellar,” she whispered. “Under the floorboards in the wine storage. Vincent keeps a wooden crate down there. I saw him putting more bottles and glasses in it last night.”
Dante looked up at me. “If that crate is down there, it’s the physical proof we need to string Vincent up by his heels in front of the entire family.”
“You can’t go down there,” I said flatly. “You can barely walk ten feet without your knees shaking.”
“Then I’m going,” I said.
Dante scoffed. “Are you insane? If Vincent or his men catch you in the cellar, they won't give you a lecture on medical ethics. They’ll put you in a barrel and drop you in Lake Michigan.”
“I’m the florist, remember?” I said, grabbing my medical bag and checking my supplies. “I’m supposed to be looking for fresh herbs in the estate garden. If anyone sees me, I’m lost. But if you try to drag your half-poisoned body down those stairs, you’ll be dead before you hit the main floor.”
Dante stared at me for a long time. Then he reached down, took the black semi-automatic pistol from his side, and held it out to me butt-first.
“Do you know how to use this?”
May you like
“My grandfather was a combat medic in Korea,” I said, taking the weapon. It was heavier than I expected, the steel cold against my skin. “He taught me three things: how to set a bone, how to brew digitalis, and how to clear a jam.”
Dante chuckled—a low, dangerous sound. “I like you, Camilla. Don't get killed down there. I still owe you three hundred thousand dollars.”
