Chapter 5 – THE POISON IN THE HOUSE

Luca snatched the file from my hands.

His eyes rapidly scanned the medical documents, his face hardening into a mask of pure fury.

“Streptomycin,” Luca read aloud, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “High-dose, sustained exposure. Administered over an eighteen-month period.”

I stared at him, horror washing over me. “What does that mean?”

“It’s an antibiotic,” Luca said, crushing the paper in his fist. “If given in massive doses to a child, it causes irreversible ototoxicity. It destroys the inner ear. It kills the auditory nerve.”

He looked at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears and violent rage.

“Noah wasn’t born deaf, Ella. When he was three, he got sick with a respiratory infection. Claudia offered to personally administer his daily medicine so my first wife wouldn’t have to.”

My hand flew to my mouth.

Claudia hadn’t just hated Noah. She had systematically, deliberately poisoned a toddler to make him deaf, ensuring he would be deemed “unfit” to inherit the family empire. All to pave the way for Michael.

“She took his hearing,” Luca whispered, staring blindly at the wall. “She stole my son’s voice.”

Suddenly, the heavy steel door behind us slammed shut.

The deadbolt clicked into place with a sickening thud.

“Very good, brother,” Michael’s voice crackled through a small intercom speaker mounted on the wall. “I always said you were smart. Just a little too trusting.”

Luca threw himself at the steel door, slamming his massive shoulder against it. It didn’t budge.

“Michael!” Luca roared, his voice shaking the walls. “Open this door or I will cut you to pieces!”

“I don’t think so, Luca,” Michael sighed. “You see, the syndicate council is arriving in exactly twenty minutes to bless your wedding. But instead of a wedding, they’re going to find a tragedy.”

“Where is my family?” I yelled at the speaker, tears streaming down my face. “Where is Leo?”

“Oh, your deaf little brother is perfectly safe, Ella,” Michael purred. “He’s sitting in a van outside the gates. But you and Luca? You’re going to die in a tragic fire in the carriage house. The story will be that the lowly housekeeper seduced the boss, and in a fit of passion, a stray cigarette caught the motor oil.”

A sharp scent hit my nose.

Gasoline.

It was pouring through the ventilation grates at the bottom of the wall.

“By the time the council arrives,” Michael continued, “the estate will be in mourning. Noah will be packed off to an institution for his ‘trauma,’ and I will step up to lead the family through its grief.”

“Michael, listen to me!” Luca yelled, pulling his gun. He fired twice at the reinforced glass of a small window, but the bullets just bounced off. Bulletproof.

“Goodbye, brother,” Michael said. “Enjoy the heat.”

The intercom clicked off.

A split second later, a whoosh echoed from outside.

Orange light flared through the bulletproof window. Flames began licking the edges of the steel door. The gasoline on the floor inside the room ignited, creating a wall of fire separating us from the exit.

Smoke began filling the small, enclosed space.

I coughed, dropping to the floor where the air was clearer. “Luca! We’re trapped!”

Luca was frantically searching the walls, throwing filing cabinets aside, looking for a secondary exit. There was none.

The heat was becoming unbearable. My lungs burned with every breath.

Then, I saw something under the desk.

It was a small, dusty grate. A drainage pipe for the carriage house floor.

“Luca!” I pointed.

He dropped to his knees. His massive hands gripped the iron grate. Muscles bulged against his suit jacket as he roared in exertion, ripping the rusted iron free from the concrete.

The hole was small. Too small for Luca.

“Go,” he coughed, shoving me toward the hole. “It leads to the storm drain outside the garage.”

“I’m not leaving you!” I cried, grabbing his jacket.

“Ella, go!” Luca grabbed my face, his eyes piercing mine through the smoke. “You have to get to Noah! He’s alone in the house! Michael will kill him!”

That broke me.

Noah.

I scrambled into the narrow, filthy pipe. I crawled blindly through the darkness, the sounds of roaring fire fading behind me.

When I finally pushed open the exterior grate and tumbled out onto the wet grass, the carriage house was a towering inferno.

I didn’t stop to cry. I sprinted toward the main mansion.

I burst through the kitchen doors. The guards were gone. Michael had cleared them out.

I ran up the grand staircase, my wet shoes slipping on the marble.

I reached the second floor landing just in time to see Michael walking down the hallway.

He was dragging Noah by his collar.

And in his right hand, he was holding a suppressed pistol, aimed directly at the back of the eight-year-old boy’s head.

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