Chapter 7 - Belladonna in the Porcelain Cup
My breath hitched in my throat as I stared at the glowing screen.
“Olivia?” Luca’s voice was instantly alert. He leaned across the leather seat,
his eyes locking onto my face. “What is it?”
I held out the phone, my fingers trembling.
Luca took the device, reading the message in a fraction of a second.
A terrifying stillness settled over him. The kind of stillness that precedes an
artillery strike.
“Daniel,” Luca said, his voice flat and deadly. “Call the estate kitchen
immediately. Tell Mrs. Carter to freeze all food and beverage preparation.
Nobody touches a kettle, a cup, or a plate until my personal security detail
clears the pantry.”
“On it, boss,” Daniel barked into his headset, his knuckles whitening on the
steering wheel as he weaved the armored sedan through the morning traffic on the
Kennedy Expressway.
Luca turned to me, his gaze intense, assessing every line of my posture. “Did
you leave anything behind in your quarters this morning, Olivia? A water bottle?
A thermos?”
“My travel mug,” I gasped, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. “I
left my ceramic travel mug on the counter in the staff pantry before we went to
the interrogation room. I always make chamomile tea before my morning chores.”
Luca’s jaw clenched. “Vanessa didn't just threaten you. She had someone inside
the house tamper with your routine.”
We reached the Lake Forest estate twenty-five minutes later, the sedan roaring
up the winding driveway and skidding to a halt before the grand stone portico.
Luca didn't wait for Daniel to open the door. He was out of the car in an
instant, his heavy wool coat flaring behind him as he took the front steps two
at a time.
I hurried behind him, my heart hammering against my ribs.
We strode through the grand marble foyer, bypassing the sweeping staircase, and
pushed through the swinging double doors into the industrial staff kitchen.
The kitchen was frozen in terrified silence.
Six kitchen staff members and Mrs. Carter stood against the stainless-steel prep
tables, their hands visible, guarded by two of Luca’s armed security operators.
In the center of the butcher-block island sat my pale-blue ceramic travel mug,
steam still rising lazily from the sipping lid.
Beside the mug stood a small, crystal dropper bottle with no label, resting on a
white paper towel.
Luca walked up to the island, stopping inches from the mug.
“Who touched this?” Luca demanded, his voice ringing through the cavernous
kitchen like an iron bell.
Mrs. Carter stepped forward, her apron trembling. “Mr. Moretti... Miss Bellini
came down to the kitchen twenty minutes ago. She said she wanted to prepare a
soothing herbal tea for Olivia to apologize for the... the misunderstanding at
dinner last night.”
“Did she touch the mug?” Luca asked.
“She poured hot water from the copper kettle,” Mrs. Carter said, tears of
nervous terror welling in her eyes. “And then she added three drops from that
small glass vial. She told me it was an organic lavender extract to help with
Olivia’s headache.”
Dr. Harris, who had just entered from the clinic wing carrying a chemical test
kit, stepped forward with latex gloves.
“Allow me, Mr. Moretti,” the doctor said quietly.
Dr. Harris took a clean glass pipette, drew two milliliters of the amber tea
from my mug, and dropped the liquid onto a small chemical test strip.
The strip turned a violent, dark purple within three seconds.
Dr. Harris looked up, his face grim. “Atropa belladonna. Concentrated deadly
nightshade extract.”
A collective gasp echoed across the kitchen staff.
“What would that dose have done?” Luca asked, his voice terrifyingly quiet.
“Within fifteen minutes of ingestion: severe cardiac arrhythmia, respiratory
paralysis, and fatal cardiac arrest,” Dr. Harris reported with clinical
precision. “To an untrained coroner, given her head trauma from yesterday, it
would have been ruled an accidental intracranial hemorrhage or an adverse
reaction to over-the-counter painkillers.”
A cold, sickening shudder traveled down my spine. My knees gave out, and I had
to grab the edge of the stainless-steel prep table to keep from collapsing.
Vanessa hadn't just tried to intimidate me.
She had tried to execute me in cold blood.
Luca turned slowly away from the island. He looked at Daniel, who stood by the
kitchen door with his hand resting on his sidearm.
“Where is Vanessa?” Luca asked.
“In the private conservatory on the east terrace, boss,” Daniel replied. “She
ordered breakfast service out there fifteen minutes ago.”
Luca reached out, took my cold hand in his, and pulled me gently away from the
prep table. His grip was warm, steady, and unshakeable.
“Come with me, Olivia,” Luca said.
“Mr. Moretti... please,” I whispered, terror gripping my throat. “I don't want
to see her.”
Luca looked down into my eyes, his dark gaze burning with an ancient, protective
fire.
May you like
“You are going to watch her face when she realizes her poison failed,” Luca
said. “And then you are going to watch her world crumble.”
