Chapter 6 - The Poisoner's Hand
Upstairs, the estate was in utter chaos. The shrieking fire sirens echoed off the marble walls, while strobe lights cast violent flashes of red across the dark corridors. Servants and low-level guards were scrambling toward the exits, assuming the basement was engulfed in flames.
I took the service stairs three steps at a time, the weight of Bruno's heavy steel pistol feeling alien and terrifying in my hand. My lungs burned from the smoke, but my mind was completely hyper-focused. If Dr. Vance finished his work in Lorenzo's room, Mia and I would be hunted down before we ever cleared the estate grounds.
I reached the second-floor medical suite. The heavy oak door stood slightly ajar.
Inside, the scene was playing out with chilling brutality. Nurse Elena was sprawled unconscious against the far wall, a blooming red cut above her eye where someone had pistol-whipped her. Standing over Lorenzo’s bed was Dr. Alan Vance, a thin, gaunt man in wire-rimmed glasses, holding a large pre-filled glass syringe capped with a thick needle. He was tapping the barrel to clear the air bubbles, his cold eyes fixed on Lorenzo’s intravenous port.
Lorenzo lay beneath him, his eyes now wide open.
He was awake.
The Don was conscious, his dark, piercing eyes filled with absolute fury, but his limbs were trembling violently, still partially restrained by the paralytic drugs that had suppressed his nervous system for seven long weeks. He could see his assassin standing over him, but his vocal cords could only produce a strained, muffled rasp beneath his oxygen mask.
"Don't worry, Lorenzo," Dr. Vance whispered with a sinister smirk, moving the needle toward the rubber injection port. "They'll think the excitement from that little intruder simply caused your heart to give out. A tragic end to a magnificent reign."
"Step away from the bed!" I screamed, raising the heavy pistol with both hands and leveling it straight at the doctor's chest.
Vance spun around in shock, the needle freezing millimeters from the IV tubing. When he saw a soot-covered maid holding a tactical sidearm, a condescending sneer spread across his face.
"Put that down, you idiot girl," Vance scoffed, taking a slow step toward me. "You don't even know how to take the safety off. Hand it over, or Salvatore will make sure you suffer for days."
"Try me," I said, my voice dead and steady.
I didn't lower the gun. I racked the slide back just like I’d seen on security training videos, chambering a heavy hollow-point round with a loud, metallic clack.
Vance's smug grin vanished instantly. He saw the cold resolve in my eyes—the look of a mother who had already accepted she might die tonight and had nothing left to lose. He dropped his hands slowly, letting the syringe fall onto the mattress.
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Behind him, Lorenzo’s eyes locked onto mine. There was no confusion in his gaze, only a sharp, razor-edged comprehension. Even in his paralyzed state, he understood exactly what was happening. He slowly shifted his left arm, his knuckles knocking hard against the bedside metal railing to draw my attention.
Lying on the nightstand beside his pillow was a sleek titanium panic button connected directly to his personal bodyguard division—an independent communications link that bypassed Salvatore's compromised house network.
