Chapter 3 - The Race Against the Clock
By Friday evening, Matteo’s heart rate had plummeted to a dangerously low thirty-five beats per minute.
The medical monitors in his luxury suite sounded a persistent, high-pitched emergency alarm as two private nurses kept on standby for basic life support frantically adjusted his IV fluids and epinephrine drips.
Nia stood quietly beside her utility cart in the hallway, gripping a small plastic spray bottle.
Enzo was pacing the length of the bedroom like a caged tiger, barking frantic orders into his encrypted cell phone as he tried desperately to get Dr. Keller back to the estate.
“I don’t care if he’s at his daughter’s piano recital!” Enzo roared into the phone. “Put him in a fast car and get him here right now, or I’ll burn his private medical practice to the ground!”
He slammed the phone down onto the nightstand, cursing under his breath.
Carlo stood near the foot of the bed, watching the chaotic scene with an expression of quiet, simulated concern. “Enzo, maybe we should let him go in peace. The monitors don’t lie. His heart is giving out.”
“Shut up, Carlo!” Enzo snarled, running a hand over his face.
Nia knew she could not wait any longer for the doctors. Keller was useless, and Enzo was blinded by panic.
She pushed her cart forward, stepping through the open oak doors.
“Excuse me, sirs,” Nia said, her voice small but surprisingly carrying across the room.
Enzo whipped his head around, his dark eyes narrowing like daggers. “What do you want, maid? I told you housekeeping is banned from this floor.”
“I need to speak with you, Mr. Enzo. Privately. It’s about the boss.”
Carlo stiffened instantly, his eyes locking onto Nia with sudden, predatory intensity. “She’s just a maid, Enzo. She’s probably looking for a handout or panicking because of the alarms. Throw her out.”
“Shut up, Carlo,” Enzo snapped, staring hard at Nia. He motioned with his chin toward the private bathroom attached to the suite. “In there. Talk fast. If you’re wasting my time, I’ll have you thrown off the balcony.”
Nia didn’t hesitate. She stepped into the marble-tiled bathroom, and Enzo followed, closing the heavy glass door halfway behind them.
“Well? Speak,” Enzo demanded, crossing his thick arms.
“Mr. Enzo, the doctors can’t find what’s poisoning him because they’re looking for modern syndicate chemicals,” Nia said rapidly, keeping her voice low and urgent. “They’re looking for arsenic, cyanide, or heavy metals. That’s not what’s killing him.”
Enzo stared at her, dumbfounded. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you a toxicologist now?”
“No. But my grandmother was an herbalist. She grew medicinal plants. Look at his symptoms, Mr. Enzo. Severe bradycardia, chronic nausea, vomiting green bile, and—most importantly—he keeps complaining about seeing glowing yellow-green halos around every light source in the room.”
Enzo’s expression shifted from anger to intense confusion. “Yellow halos? The doctors said that’s just liver failure.”
“It’s not liver failure! It’s xanthopsia,” Nia pressed, stepping closer, her fear momentarily overridden by conviction. “It’s the classic hallmark symptom of digitalis toxicity. Foxglove poisoning.”
Enzo’s eyes widened slightly at the foreign plant name. “Foxglove? What poison are you talking about?”
“It’s a plant, sir. Crushed foxglove leaves. Someone has been systematically steeping it into the herbal tea he drinks every single afternoon.”
Carlo’s voice suddenly cut through the glass door from the bedroom.
“Enzo! What is taking you so long in there? The boss’s blood pressure is crashing!”
Enzo ignored Carlo, his syndicate instincts kicking into overdrive as he stared down at Nia. “How do you know this? Prove it.”
“The silver tea canister on the bedside table,” Nia whispered fiercely. “Go look inside it right now. Smell it. You’ll smell ginger and mint, but underneath, you’ll smell the bitter, dusty scent of dried foxglove leaves. And who is the only person who prepares that tea for him every single day?”
Enzo went completely still.
The color drained from his face as the pieces violently clicked together in his mind.
Carlo.
Carlo was the one who brought the tea. Carlo was the one who managed the clean real estate empire. Carlo stood to inherit everything if Matteo died quietly of natural-seeming organ failure.
Enzo’s hand instinctively dropped toward the heavy Glock pistol holstered beneath his left armpit.
“Enzo!” Carlo called out again, his voice rising anxiously from the bedroom. “Open the door! He’s arresting! Get in here!”
Enzo pushed past Nia, bursting out of the bathroom with his face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.
Carlo was standing by the bedside table, holding an empty glass syringe.
Before Carlo could react, Enzo crossed the room in two massive strides, grabbed Carlo by the lapels of his expensive sweater, and slammed him violently against the mahogany wall, knocking a framed painting crashing to the floor.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Carlo choked out, clutching Enzo’s wrists, his fake sorrow instantly replaced by sheer panic. “Enzo, have you lost your mind? The boss is dying!”
“You son of a bitch,” Enzo snarled, pressing his forearm against Carlo’s throat with lethal pressure. “You’ve been poisoning him with foxglove tea, haven't you?”
Carlo’s eyes bulged in absolute terror. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about! That’s insane! The maid is lying!”
“Open the tea canister, Enzo,” Nia spoke up calmly from the doorway, pointing steadily at the bedside table. “Check the leaves.”
Enzo kept one hand locked around Carlo’s throat while his other hand reached out and snatched the silver tea canister off the table. He ripped the lid off, shoved his nose directly over the opening, and took a sharp breath.
The bitter, earthy, unmistakable scent of crushed foxglove hit him instantly.
Enzo’s vision went red.
The betrayal by a blood relative cut deeper than any rival gang bullet ever could.
“You poisoned my boss,” Enzo whispered, his voice trembling with homicidal rage. “Your own cousin.”
“Enzo, wait! We can talk about this!” Carlo shrieked, kicking his legs as his face turned dark purple from lack of oxygen. “We can split the real estate holdings! We can—”
He never finished the sentence.
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Enzo drew his pistol in a flash of motion, pressing the cold steel barrel directly beneath Carlo’s chin.
“You’re going to jail, Carlo,” Enzo growled coldly. “Or better yet, you’re going to drink a cup of your own special tea right now.”
