Chapter 4 - The Antidote and the Awakening
By Saturday morning, the secure private estate had transformed from a gloomy hospice into a high-security medical outpost.
Following Enzo’s explosive discovery, Matteo’s trusted personal physician—flown in on a private jet from a top-tier toxicology center in Switzerland—had immediately confirmed Nia’s diagnosis. A blood test specifically screening for cardiac glycosides revealed lethal levels of digitalis circulating in Matteo’s bloodstream.
Emergency administration of Digibind—an antidote specifically designed to neutralize foxglove poisoning—was pumped directly into Matteo’s IV lines.
Down in the estate’s basement security holding cells, Carlo Costa was locked behind heavy iron bars, awaiting a very permanent, very painful syndicate trial.
In the master suite, the high-pitched alarms on the medical monitors had finally been silenced, replaced by the steady, healthy rhythm of a recovering heartbeat.
Matteo Costa opened his eyes.
The heavy yellow-green halos that had tortured his vision for weeks were completely gone. The harsh lamps overhead no longer burned his retinas.
He slowly turned his head across the oversized pillows.
Enzo sat in the armchair beside the bed, looking exhausted but fiercely relieved, holding a cup of black coffee. Standing awkwardly near the doorway, clutching her plastic cleaning bucket and wearing her stiff gray uniform, was Nia.
Matteo cleared his throat, his voice sounding raspy, but infinitely stronger than it had in days.
“Enzo…” Matteo whispered.
Enzo bolted upright from his chair, rushing to the bedside. “Boss! I’m right here. How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a freight train,” Matteo muttered, blinking against the light. “And... my stomach doesn't feel like glass anymore. What happened? Did Keller finally figure it out?”
Enzo shook his head slowly, a grim smile touching his lips. “No, Keller is an overpaid quack. If it weren't for someone else in this room, you’d already be six feet under.”
Matteo frowned, shifting his gaze past Enzo’s shoulder until his dark, piercing eyes locked directly onto Nia standing quietly by the door.
Nia’s stomach flipped. She gripped the handle of her bucket tighter, suddenly regretting every life choice that had brought her to this exact room.
“You,” Matteo rasped, studying her from head to toe. “You’re the new maid. Enzo told me what happened. He said you smelled the tea.”
Nia swallowed hard, keeping her chin up despite her racing heart. “Yes, Mr. Costa. It was foxglove. Digitalis. My grandmother grew it in her greenhouse. The symptoms matched classic poisoning, not organ failure.”
Matteo stared at her in silence for several long, agonizing seconds. The entire room held its breath. In the syndicate world, maids did not talk back, let alone diagnose mob bosses.
Then, slowly, the corners of Matteo’s mouth twitched upward into a genuine, weathered smile.
“My own flesh and blood tried to murder me with garden weeds,” Matteo murmured, letting out a dry, chest-deep chuckle. “And a twenty-four-year-old maid with a bucket and a sponge is the only person in this entire mansion with enough brains to save my life.”
He turned his head toward Enzo.
“Enzo.”
“Boss?”
“What is her name?”
“Nia Lewis, boss.”
Matteo looked back at Nia, his slate-gray eyes softening with the heavy weight of absolute, unyielding gratitude.
“Nia,” Matteo said, his voice carrying the commanding authority of a man who owned the city. “Put down that damn bucket.”
Nia blinked, confused. “Sir?”
“I said, put the bucket down. You’re done cleaning floors in my house.”
Matteo reached slowly over to the nightstand, picked up his heavy gold signet ring—the one bearing the family crest—and placed it gently on the wooden surface.
“Effective immediately, you are no longer housekeeping,” Matteo declared. “You are the head of my personal administrative logistics and asset security oversight committee. Your starting salary is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, plus full medical coverage for your entire family, retroactive for your late mother’s debts.”
Nia’s jaw dropped open. She stared at the gold ring, then at Enzo, who simply nodded in solemn approval.
“Mr. Costa… I don’t know what to say,” Nia stammered, her knees suddenly feeling weak beneath her.
“Don’t say thank you yet,” Matteo smiled, a dangerous glint returning to his eyes. “First, I want you to help Enzo and me audit every single financial account, real estate deed, and business ledger that my dear cousin Carlo managed while I was lying in this bed.”
May you like
Matteo leaned back against his pillows, breathing easily for the first time in months.
“Turns out,” the mafia boss added softly, “we have a lot of spring cleaning left to do.”
