Chapter 3 - The Doctor’s Prescription
The heavy oak door creaked open precisely at ten o'clock, admitting Dr. Alistair Sterling—not Julian, but his uncle, the family physician who had tended to the Duca household for thirty years. Dr. Sterling carried a leather medical bag, his silver-rimmed glasses gleaming under the wall sconces as he offered a sympathetic, weary smile.
“Good morning, Lorenzo,” Dr. Sterling murmured softly, walking toward the bed with the measured steps of a man accustomed to grief. “How are we holding up against the cold today?”
Lorenzo did not move. He lay staring at the ceiling, his breathing shallow, projecting the image of a man on the very precipice of the grave.
“The cold is fine, Alistair,” Lorenzo whispered. “It’s the company that feels lukewarm.”
Dr. Sterling chuckled softly, setting his bag down on the bedside table right beside Milo, Emma’s stuffed bear. “Ah, still sharp with the tongue, I see. That’s a good sign. Though your lab panels from yesterday suggest your nervous system is continuing its terminal descent. I’m afraid the new batch of intravenous neuro-blockers will need to be doubled.”
He reached into his medical bag, withdrawing a pre-loaded syringe filled with a pale amber liquid.
“This will ease the tremors,” Dr. Sterling explained smoothly, uncapping the needle with practiced calm. “It’s unfortunate modern medicine has no cure for what ails you, Lorenzo. You built an empire, but in the end, biology defeats us all.”
“My father used to say biology can be negotiated,” Lorenzo murmured, his eyes fixed on the doctor’s hands. “Provided you know who’s holding the pen.”
Dr. Sterling paused, a micro-expression of irritation flickering across his otherwise serene face. He pressed the plunger slightly, releasing a tiny bead of liquid into the air. “You’re fatigued, old friend. Let me administer the injection, and you can rest.”
Before the needle could descend toward the port in Lorenzo’s arm, the door burst open.
“Mister!”
Emma skipped into the room, holding a fresh crayon drawing in one hand and a small wooden block in the other. She marched straight up to the bed, completely ignoring the doctor, and held up her artwork.
“Look! I drew a dragon! He is eating a cloud!”
Dr. Sterling recoiled instinctively, his face flushing with annoyance. “Good heavens, Sophia! Why is this child wandering into a medical ward? This is entirely unsanitary.”
“She’s not wandering, Alistair,” Lorenzo said, his voice as cold as glacial ice. He slowly turned his head to look at the doctor. “She’s visiting.”
“Lorenzo, you need this medication immediately,” Dr. Sterling insisted, stepping closer with the syringe. “Every hour you delay risks total respiratory collapse.”
“Put the syringe down, Alistair.”
The doctor froze. The tone in Lorenzo’s voice wasn’t the weak, gasping wheeze of a dying man. It was the absolute, unyielding command of a crime lord who had sentenced dozens of traitors to unmarked graves.
“What did you say?” Dr. Sterling asked, his fingers tightening around the glass barrel of the syringe.
“I said put it down,” Lorenzo repeated. He shifted his weight, pushing himself up against the pillows—an action that had required two orderlains just forty-eight hours ago. He looked straight into the doctor’s terrified eyes. “Do you know what happens when a man is slowly poisoned with heavy metals and neurotoxins over fourteen months, Alistair? His muscles waste away. His nervous system collapses. He thinks he’s dying of a rare disease.”
Dr. Sterling’s face drained of color until it matched his white coat. “You’re delirious. The fever is affecting your mind—mallocations, paranoia—”
“Sophia,” Lorenzo called out.
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Sophia stepped into the doorway, her hands trembling as she carried a silver serving tray she had retrieved from the incinerator room downstairs—the very tray that had held Lorenzo’s morning porridge two days ago.
“Test the residue on the rim of that silver bowl, Alistair,” Lorenzo whispered, his gaze locked on the physician. “Or shall I have Bruno bring in an independent toxicologist from downtown? Though, knowing Bruno, he won’t wait for the lab results before he feeds you to the guard dogs.”
