Chapter 3 - Poison in the Sacristy Wine
Bianca choked on the mud washing into her mouth, her hands clawing desperately
at Lorenzo’s iron wrist.
“Lorenzo... please... it wasn't me!” she gasped, her voice shrill with terror.
“It was the Atlanta syndicate! Don Vance... he said if I didn't help them take
over the Gulf ports, they would kill me! They provided the compound!”
Lorenzo didn't release his grip. His fingers tightened, lifting her until her
toes barely brushed the flooded gravel.
“What was in the chalice?” he repeated, his tone entirely devoid of human
emotion.
“Aconite,” she sobbed, breaking completely under the pressure. “Monkshood
extract... mixed with digitalis. It mimics a massive coronary stroke within
twenty minutes. It leaves no chemical trace in standard post-mortem tox
screens!”
“And the doctor?” Lorenzo asked. “Dr. Sterling?”
“He was on Vance’s payroll! He signed the death certificate! He helped us
transport her body from the chapel to the crypt before the undertakers arrived!”
“Why didn't you put a bullet in her head, Bianca?” Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed into
silver slits of lethal calculation. “Why bury her alive in a cistern?”
Bianca wept, rain washing away the thick layers of foundation to reveal a face
twisted in pathetic greed. “Because of the Geneva depository! The Swiss bankers
require biometric authorization! A retinal scan and a blood sample to transfer
the Moretti bearer bonds! We needed her alive until the storm passed so Vance’s
specialists could fly in and extract the codes!”
“And Baron?” I spoke up from the crypt doorway, my voice trembling with rage.
“Why did you try to drown Baron?”
Bianca’s eyes darted to me, venom flaring through her panic. “Because that
filthy hound wouldn't leave the crypt door! He bit one of Vance’s couriers two
nights ago! He dug through the fresh concrete until his paws were down to the
bone! He knew she was down there!”
Lorenzo looked at his cousin for five long seconds.
He didn't scream. He didn't strike her. The rage inside Lorenzo Moretti was
beyond violence; it was absolute, cold annihilation.
He released her collar. Bianca crumpled into the mud, gasping for breath.
“Matteo,” Lorenzo said, turning back toward the crypt.
“Boss?”
“Secure my cousin in the cold room beneath the slaughterhouse on the south
ridge. Strip her of all jewelry, her shoes, and her coat. Do not give her water
until I arrive. If she speaks, break her jaw.”
“Understood, Mr. Moretti.”
Two enforcers dragged Bianca away through the mud, her screams swallowed by the
howling hurricane winds.
Lorenzo walked back into the crypt, kneeling beside his mother.
Donna Maria’s breathing was growing shallower, her lips turning a faint,
dangerous shade of blue. Hypothermia and twenty-one days of severe dehydration
were shutting down her organs.
“We need Dr. Harris,” Lorenzo said, referring to his trusted personal physician
stationed in the French Quarter. “The roads are flooded. The river road is
washed out.”
“I know the old railway easement, Mr. Moretti,” I said, stepping forward,
kneeling on the flagstones beside Donna Maria’s head. “My father worked the
timber lines along the bayou for twenty years. The gravel bed is four feet
higher than the road. An armored truck can make it to the city hospital in
thirty-five minutes.”
Lorenzo looked up at me. His silver eyes took in my soaked clothes, my bleeding
wrist where Bianca had dug her nails, and the way I was gently cradling his
dying mother’s head against my apron.
“You’re coming with us, Evelyn,” Lorenzo said.
“I won't leave Baron, sir,” I said, looking at the shivering dog curled around
Donna Maria’s feet. “He won't survive another hour without intravenous fluids.”
Lorenzo looked down at the scarred old Doberman. He reached out and gently laid
his palm over the dog’s ribs.
May you like
“Nobody who bled for my mother gets left behind tonight,” Lorenzo said. “Matteo!
Prep the heavy Suburban. We move now!”
