Chapter 3 - The Shadow in the Office
The drive from downtown Chicago to the Highland Park estate typically took forty minutes under normal traffic conditions.
Tonight, with the rain turning the interstate into a slick, black mirror and semi-trucks throwing blinding sheets of spray across the windshield, it took twenty-eight minutes because Dante drove like a man being chased by demons.
In the back seat of the bulletproof Cadillac, Victor sat in total darkness.
He had not spoken a single word since they left the underground parking garage. His hands were clasped tightly over the handle of his walking cane, his knuckles stark white against the dark wood. Every mile markers that rushed past in the gloom felt like a heartbeat ticking down toward an inevitable reckoning.
Madeline was at the estate.
She had stayed for dinner. She had smiled across the candlelit table in the grand dining room, poured Victor a glass of wine, and asked him how his business meetings had gone.
The performance of a demon, Victor thought, his teeth grinding together with enough force to ache.
When the Cadillac swept through the wrought-iron gates of the Highland Park compound, the motion-sensor floodlights snapped on, washing the sprawling brick mansion in harsh, artificial daylight. Armed guards stationed at the perimeter barely had time to salute before Dante whipped the car around the circular driveway and slammed to a halt beneath the grand portico.
Victor was out of the car before Dante could kill the engine.
“Boss,” Dante called out, jogging to keep pace as Victor strode up the marble steps. “What are we doing? You want me to clear the house?”
“No,” Victor snapped over his shoulder, his long coat snapping behind him in the cold wind. “No bullets. Not yet. I want answers first.”
They entered through the heavy oak double doors of the foyer. The house was warm, smelling faintly of beeswax, expensive cedar, and the subtle floral perfume Madeline wore.
Victor threw his coat at a terrified footman who happened to be walking past—the young man caught it clumsily and pressed himself flat against the wall as the syndicate boss marched past without a glance.
Instead of heading to his study, Victor turned toward the grand staircase that led to the second-floor family wing.
“Boss,” Dante murmured, falling into step beside him. “Madeline is in the blue parlor reading a magazine. You want me to—”
“Let her read,” Victor growled. “We’re going to Leo’s room.”
They moved up the stairs in silence, their footsteps absorbed by the thick Persian carpets. The hallway outside Leo’s room was dimly lit by a single wall sconce.
Before Victor could reach for the brass doorknob, the door clicked open.
Nora Hayes stepped out into the hallway, carrying the silver dinner tray with the empty bowl of soup. She stopped dead in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat as she found herself face-to-face with Victor Romano and his hulking enforcer.
For a fraction of a second, panic flared in her emerald green eyes.
Then she composed herself, stepping back and lowering her gaze with the practiced submissiveness of a domestic employee.
“Mr. Romano,” she said, her voice steady despite the obvious tension. “I didn't expect you back from the city so early.”
Victor stared down at her.
Up close, without the grain of the camera feed, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the faint tension around her jaw, and the subtle bulge in the pocket of her gray apron where the syringe was hidden.
“You’re out late, Miss Hayes,” Victor said slowly, stepping closer until the sheer physical dominance of his presence forced her to tilt her head back. “Usually, your shift ends at nine.”
“I was finishing Leo’s physical therapy stretches,” Nora replied without flinching. “He had some stiffness in his right knee.”
“Did he?” Victor’s eyes narrowed. “Or were you busy playing chemist?”
Nora went completely rigid.
The silver tray in her hands rattled slightly against the edge of her apron. The color vanished from her cheeks, leaving her skin looking like powdered chalk.
Dante’s hand instantly dropped toward the grip of his pistol beneath his suit jacket.
“Boss,” Dante warned softly.
“Stay back, Dante,” Victor commanded, never breaking eye contact with the young nurse. He leaned down slightly, his voice dropping into a low, menacing hiss. “You took my camera feeds into account when you locked that door, didn't you? You knew I was watching.”
Nora swallowed hard. Her breath came out in a shallow, trembling sigh.
“I knew the cameras were there from my first day, Mr. Romano,” Nora whispered, her voice barely audible above the hum of the hallway lights. “A man who lives the way you do doesn't leave his paralyzed son unguarded. I just didn't know whether you were blind... or complicit.”
Dante let out a sharp intake of breath. “You ungrateful little bitch—”
“Shut up, Dante!” Victor roared, the sound echoing down the vaulted hallway with enough force to rattle the paintings on the wall.
He looked back at Nora. There was no fear in her eyes now—only a deep, burning defiance that mirrored his own.
“Explain,” Victor commanded.
Nora didn't hesitate. She reached into her apron pocket, withdrew the foil-wrapped testing strip, and held it out on the flat of her palm.
The magenta line glowed faintly in the dim light.
“Digoxin,” Nora said quietly. “Cardiac glycoside. At low doses, it slows the heart. At high doses, administered slowly over weeks or months through food or water, it mimics natural organ failure. No struggle. No visible trauma. Just a boy whose heart simply decides to stop beating in his sleep.”
Victor stared at the strip.
The world around him seemed to tilt on its axis.
May you like
“Who?” Victor demanded, though he already knew the answer.
“The woman who brings him dinner every Tuesday and Thursday evening,” Nora said, her voice dropping like a falling guillotine. “Your fiancée, Miss Madeline Vance.”
