Chapter 6 - The Poison in the Tea
The storm broke two weeks later on a suffocating Sunday afternoon.
Valentina had been feeling unwell since morning—a sudden, violent wave of nausea and weakness that kept her confined to her private suite. Serena had spent the last three hours by the old woman’s bedside, dampening her forehead with cool cloths and preparing a soothing chamomile and ginger infusion.
“Drink this, Signora,” Serena coaxed, helping Valentina sit up slightly against the velvet pillows.
Valentina took a small sip, her hands trembling. “It tastes... bitter, child. Not like your usual tea.”
Serena frowned, picking up the porcelain teapot on the bedside table. She poured a small amount into her own palm and touched it to her tongue.
It wasn't ginger.
It was a sharp, metallic, burning chemical taste that made her throat instantly constrict.
Arsenic. Or something equally lethal, slow-acting, and untraceable.
Before Serena could speak, Valentina let out a sharp gasp, her eyes rolling back as a violent tremor racked her frail body.
“Signora!” Serena screamed, dropping the teapot. It shattered against the marble floor, dark liquid spreading like a stain across the white stone. “Signora, look at me! Stay with me!”
Valentina’s fingers clawed weakly at Serena’s sleeve. “The... the kitchen... someone was in the kitchen last night...”
Her head fell back against the pillows. Her breathing hitched, shallow and erratic.
“PATRICIA! GUARDS!” Serena screamed at the top of her lungs, sprinting toward the door.
Within seconds, heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. Dante burst into the suite, his face drained of all color, followed by two armed guards and a frantic Patricia.
Dante stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his mother lying motionless on the bed.
“What happened?” he roared, crossing the room in two strides and dropping to his knees beside the bed.
“She was poisoned,” Serena said, her voice shaking violently as she pointed to the shattered teapot on the floor. “Someone put a heavy toxin in her evening tea. It’s slow-acting—she’s been ingesting it for days, but today was a concentrated dose.”
Dante checked his mother’s pulse, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek. He looked up at the guard. “Get the private jet on standby. Move her to Mayo Clinic immediately. No hospitals in Chicago. Move!”
As the guards rushed in with a medical stretcher, Dante stood up slowly. He turned to Patricia.
“Who had access to the private kitchen after midnight?”
Patricia turned pale, her hands wringing together. “Only... only the senior staff, Mr. Moretti. And... and Ms. Bowmont.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed into two slits of pure, incandescent death. “Celeste.”
Serena grabbed Dante’s arm. “Mr. Moretti, look at the security logs. Celeste was here last night when you were at the docks. She came to ‘retrieve her diamond earrings,’ but she never went to her room.”
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Dante didn't answer. He turned on his heel and strode out of the suite like an avenging angel.
Serena followed him down the long corridor, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She knew—with a cold, terrifying certainty—that the trap had finally snapped shut.
