Chapter 2 - The Needle and the Alibi
Maeve tucked Danny into the backseat of the bus that night, her mind racing with dangerous thoughts. She knew the golden rule of surviving in Boston's underworld: invisible people stayed invisible by keeping their mouths shut. Yet, as she stared at the flickering streetlamps, her nursing instincts warred violently with her self-preservation. A paralyzed man with no linens changing, untouched medical supplies, and a doctor who visited only to adjust a mysterious continuous drip IV bag—it all pointed to something far more sinister than natural decline.
The next morning, Maeve returned to the Castellano estate, her heart pounding against her ribs. Bridget Halloran barked out cleaning assignments, but Maeve’s focus was fixed on the grand staircase. When Bridget stepped outside to speak with a delivery driver, Maeve made her decision. She grabbed a spare trash bin, slipped past the velvet partition, and climbed the forbidden stairs as quietly as a shadow.
The second-floor hallway was dead silent. She slipped into Emmett’s room, her breath catching in her throat. The man in the bed looked less like a feared crime boss and more like a skeleton wrapped in skin, his eyes sunken, his skin pale and clammy.
"Who's there?" Emmett whispered, his voice a dry, rasping scrape of sandpaper.
"My name is Maeve," she replied softly, stepping closer to the bedside despite her shaking knees. "I'm the new maid. Mr. Castellano, you need water. Why isn't anyone helping you?"
Before Emmett could answer, a soft chime echoed from the hallway. Corbin Pike was returning early. Panic surged through Maeve. Spotting a medical cart pushed against the far wall, she ducked underneath a heavy silk tapestry just as the bedroom door clicked open.
Through a narrow gap in the fabric, Maeve watched in absolute horror as Corbin Pike entered the room. He didn't bring food or water. Instead, he walked straight to the IV pole, pulled a small, unlabeled vial from his pocket, and injected a clear liquid directly into the plastic tubing.
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"Just a little longer, boss," Corbin muttered with a cold, mocking smirk. "Uncle Warren wants everything settled by tomorrow morning anyway."
Maeve clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. It wasn't paralysis killing Emmett Castellano. It was slow-acting potassium chloride mixed with sedatives, administered by his own trusted attendant under the orders of Uncle Warren and Dr. Vernon Ashford. They weren't waiting for him to die; they were actively poisoning him to death.
