Chapter 4 - The Snake in the Sanctuary
At seven o'clock the following morning, the estate was wrapped in a thick, gloomy December fog.
Audrey woke early, feeling energized. She put on a tailored cream cashmere sweater, pearl earrings, and light makeup. Today was the day. By noon, Sylvia Moretti would be declared dead of a massive heart attack brought on by her preexisting stroke condition. By six o’clock, Judge Vance would arrive to handle the estate papers, and Capo Marco’s men would secure the perimeter.
When Victor returned from Chicago on Thursday, he would find his fiancée weeping over his mother’s coffin—a grieving, devoted daughter-in-law ready to comfort him and sign the trust papers.
Audrey walked down the grand marble staircase, humming softly to herself.
She entered the kitchen, expecting to see Marta scrubbing the counters. But the kitchen was empty. A single silver tray sat on the central island, holding a porcelain teapot, a cup, and a small plate of buttered toast.
A note sat beside the tray in Marta’s messy, childlike handwriting:
Miss Audrey, I go to basement to wash big blankets. I leave tea for you.
Audrey smirked, tossing the note into the trash. "At least the peasant knows her place."
She picked up the tray, walked up the stairs, and headed straight for Sylvia's room.
When she opened the door, the room was dark, the heavy velvet drapes drawn tight against the morning fog. Sylvia lay in bed, her breathing shallow and raspy.
Audrey set the tray on the bedside table. She picked up the small glass vial she had left there the night before.
It contained a concentrated liquid digitalis compound—five times stronger than the pills. One injection into Sylvia's IV line, and her heart would go into fatal ventricular fibrillation within twenty minutes.
"Good morning, Sylvia," Audrey said cheerfully, pulling a sterile syringe from her leather handbag. "It's a beautiful day for a funeral."
Sylvia opened her eyes slowly. She did not look frightened. She looked directly into Audrey’s eyes with a cold, piercing clarity that made Audrey pause for a fraction of a second.
"Don't look at me like that," Audrey sneered, wiping the rubber stopper of the vial with an alcohol pad. "You think Victor loved you? He’s a thug, Sylvia. A violent, uncouth animal with a big bank account. My father and I are doing this family a favor by taking the reins. You’re just collateral damage."
She drew three milliliters of the clear liquid into the syringe, tapped the glass to clear the air bubbles, and stepped toward the IV drip pole beside the bed.
"Say goodbye to your empire," Audrey whispered, reaching for the plastic port on the IV tube.
CLICK.
The sound was tiny, but in the quiet room, it sounded like a thunderclap.
Audrey froze.
It wasn't the sound of the IV port. It was the sound of a heavy steel deadbolt sliding into place on the main bedroom door.
Audrey spun around. "Who's there?"
The lights in the room suddenly cut out, plunging the space into near-total darkness, save for the pale grey fog pressing against the windows.
Then, from the dark corner near the velvet drapes, a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped slowly into the pale light.
He wore a tailored charcoal three-piece suit. His dark hair was combed back, his face cast in stone, his dark eyes burning with an ancient, murderous fury.
In his right hand, he held a black silenced Kimber .45 pistol.
Audrey’s breath hitched in her throat. The syringe slipped from her gloved fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor.
"V-Victor?" she gasped, her face draining of every drop of color. "You... you’re in Chicago..."
"I was never in Chicago, Audrey," Victor said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.
He took three slow, deliberate steps forward. Each thud of his Italian leather shoes sounded like a drumbeat marking her execution.
Audrey backed away, her hands shaking uncontrollably as her back hit the bedside table, knocking over the silver tea tray with a deafening CRASH.
"Victor, wait! I—I can explain!" Audrey stammered, her cold, arrogant demeanor evaporating instantly into pure, hysterical panic. "I was just... I was giving her her medicine! The doctor said—"
"The doctor is currently tied to a chair in my basement," Victor interrupted coldly. He did not raise his gun. He held it casually at his side, as if it were merely an extension of his hand. "He has already given my men a full confession. Along with the bank account numbers where your father deposited his two million dollar bribe."
Audrey’s jaw trembled. "Victor, please! It wasn't me! My father made me do it! He owes people money—terrible people! He threatened to kill me if I didn't help him get the trust!"
Victor stopped three feet from her. The air around him was so cold, so heavy, that Audrey could barely breathe.
"You lied to me," Victor whispered. "You touched my mother. You poured water on her floor and made her beg. You forced poison down her throat."
Audrey collapsed to her knees, grabbing the hem of his trousers, tears streaming down her face, ruining her perfect makeup.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Victor! I love you! Please, we can fix this! We can blame Marco! I’ll tell the police whatever you want!"
Victor looked down at her with pure, unadulterated disgust.
"Get your filthy hands off me," he said softly.
Before Audrey could scream, the bedroom door opened again.
May you like
Leo stepped inside, flanked by two towering enforcers holding heavy zip-ties. Behind them stood Marta, her hands folded neatly over her clean apron, her face calm and victorious.
"Take her to the vault," Victor ordered without looking back. "And bring Capo Marco and Judge Vance up from the gatehouse. It’s time to hold court."
