Chapter 5 – The Needle in the Dark
The syringe rolled across the mahogany floor, stopping inches from Dominic’s polished shoes. The clear liquid inside caught the light of the fireplace.
The silence in the room was absolute. Even Thomas Arden’s armed men looked uneasy.
“A sedative, Celeste?” Dominic asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Or something stronger?”
Celeste scrambled to her knees, reaching for the syringe, but Dominic stepped on it. The glass shattered, the liquid seeping into the wood.
“It was for Eleanor!” Celeste cried out, her manicured hands trembling. “She’s crazy, Dominic! I just wanted to calm her down before she ruined our night!”
“Liar,” Eleanor said, standing up on shaking legs. “That’s the exact same chemical your father used to keep Margaret compliant in the clinic. You were going to use it on Dominic once the marriage papers were signed. To make him a puppet for the Arden family.”
I looked at Celeste, really looked at her. Beneath the flawless makeup and designer gown was a woman terrified of losing her grip on power. She hadn’t just recommended my father’s physical therapist; she had orchestrated this entire engagement as a hostile takeover of the Falcone family.
Thomas Arden suddenly lunged, grabbing my arm and pressing a cold steel barrel against my ribs.
“Back off, Dominic!” Thomas barked. “I don’t need the old man. I have the girl. Give me the rosary now, or she dies right here.”
Dominic didn’t flinch. He looked at me, his dark eyes communicating a silent promise. Trust me.
“Take it,” Dominic said, raising his hands slowly. “Anna, give him the rosary.”
I hesitated, but the pressure of the gun forced my hand. I held out the silver cross. Thomas snatched it greedily, his eyes gleaming with triumph.
“You’re a fool, Dominic,” Thomas sneered, backing toward the door and dragging me with him. “You let a maid distract you from the bigger picture.”
He pushed through the study doors, dragging me into the dim hallway. The faint sound of classical music drifted from the dining room where the engagement party was still in full swing.
“Keep moving,” Thomas hissed in my ear.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket. Then it buzzed again. And again. An emergency override alarm.
Thomas flinched at the sound. In that split second of distraction, I remembered what my father had taught me before he got sick. I drove the heel of my shoe into Thomas’s instep and threw my elbow backward into his face.
He roared in pain, dropping the gun. I scrambled away, but before I could run, I saw what had distracted him.
Standing at the end of the hallway was a man I hadn’t seen in twenty years.
He was older, graying, wearing a faded trench coat.
“Let go of my daughter, Thomas,” the man said.
I stopped breathing. It was impossible.
The man in the coat was my father—but he wasn’t the frail, stroke-ridden man in the hospital bed. He was standing perfectly straight, holding a leveled revolver.
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