Chapter 6 - The Poisoned Chalice
Emily stood motionless in the quiet room, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped snare drum. She looked at the wooden door, then at the laptop sitting on the desk behind her containing the evidence that pointed directly to the woman standing on the other side.
"Just a moment, Miss Ferrara," Emily called out, making her voice sound as frazzled and shaken as possible.
She quickly slipped her laptop into her leather shoulder bag, hid the bag beneath the bed skirt, and tucked the flash drive into the lining of her bra. Then, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Victoria stood in the dimly lit hallway, looking radiant and completely unbothered by the violence that had occurred hours earlier. She held a silver tray bearing a fine porcelain teapot, a single teacup, and a neatly folded silk robe. Behind her stood two large, silent bodyguards in dark suits.
"May I come in?" Victoria asked, offering a warm, maternal smile that didn't reach her cold blue eyes.
"Of course," Emily said, stepping aside to let her pass.
Victoria walked in, setting the tray gently on the small circular table near the window. She turned around and looked Emily up and down with an expression of graceful pity.
"You poor girl," Victoria said smoothly, pouring a stream of golden tea into the cup. "You've been through absolute hell since you stepped foot on this property. First the pool, now a sniper attack. Santino has a way of dragging innocent people into his personal storms."
"Mr. Ferrara seems to attract a lot of danger," Emily replied cautiously, remaining standing near the bed.
"Santino is a broken man, Emily," Victoria said softly, stepping closer and handing her the steaming cup of tea. "He lost the use of his legs three years ago, and with it, he lost his grip on reality. He sees enemies behind every curtain. He thinks everyone is plotting against him."
Emily looked down at the pale amber liquid in the porcelain cup. The scent of chamomile was heavy, but underneath it, her sharp senses detected a faint, bitter almond aroma—a smell she recognized from her college chemistry labs.
Cyanide derivative. A micro-dose. Not enough to kill immediately, but enough to induce a cardiac event that would look like stress-induced heart failure in a traumatized woman.
Emily’s fingers tightened on the saucer, but she kept her expression completely passive.
"Drink it, dear. It will calm your nerves," Victoria urged, her eyes watching Emily’s face like a hawk watching a field mouse.
"Thank you, Miss Ferrara," Emily said softly. She raised the cup toward her lips, letting her mouth touch the rim. But just as she tilted it, she deliberately let her hand tremble violently.
The teacup slipped from her fingers, crashing onto the hardwood floor and shattering into a dozen pieces. Hot tea splashed across the hem of Victoria's expensive silk dress and Emily's shoes.
"Oh! Oh my goodness! I am so sorry!" Emily cried out, dropping to her knees immediately, grabbing a napkin from the tray to frantically wipe at Victoria's dress. "I'm so sorry, my hands... they won't stop shaking!"
Victoria took a sharp step back, her face instantly turning to stone as she looked down at the ruined silk. The maternal warmth vanished instantly, replaced by a flash of pure, murderous irritation.
"Clumsy fool," Victoria hissed under her breath before catching herself. She forced her expression back into a cold, rigid smile. "It's... fine. Don't worry about it, Emily."
She stepped over the puddle of tea and broken porcelain, heading toward the door.
"Get some rest, Miss Taylor," Victoria said, her tone icy and sharp as glass. "You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. If you survive the night."
The heavy wooden door clicked shut, and the sound of Victoria’s high heels faded down the marble hallway.
Emily didn't waste a single second. She scrambled under the bed, pulled out her shoulder bag, and checked the hallway through the peephole. The bodyguards were gone. Victoria was returning to her wing to deal with her dress.
She pulled out her phone and drafted a quick, encrypted message to Santino’s private server:
Warehouse 17. Old Port District. Victoria is running Aegis. She just tried to poison me. I’m going to the warehouse now.
May you like
She locked her phone, threw on a dark hooded jacket from her bag, and walked over to the balcony doors. The rain was still falling heavily outside. She opened the glass door, stepped out onto the wet stone, and looked down. A thick ivy trellis ran down the side of the brick wall to the gardens below.
She grabbed the heavy vines, took a deep breath, and began her descent into the dark.
