Chapter 18 - A Poisoned Truth
Elena scrambled up the concrete stairs like a wild animal, ignoring the stinging pain in her feet, ignoring the torn fabric of her dress.
"LILY!" she shrieked, bursting into the second-floor corridor.
Vincent was right behind her, his heavy steps shaking the floor, his weapon drawn.
They tore into the nursery.
The room was silent. The window facing the dark, snow-covered forest was wide open, the winter wind howling through the lace curtains, swirling snowflakes onto the wooden floor.
On the bed, Lily was not sleeping.
The little girl lay on her side, curled into a tight ball, her small face as pale as porcelain, dark purple rings circling her eyes. A small, tipped-over glass of warm milk lay on the nightstand, its spilled liquid fizzing faintly against the polished wood.
"Lily! Baby, wake up!" Elena threw herself onto the bed, scooping her daughter into her arms.
Lily’s skin was ice cold, burning with a subterranean fever. Her tiny lips were stained with a dark, bitter residue, and she gasped weakly for air, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal glazed, unfocused pupils.
"Mama..." Lily whimpered, her tiny voice barely a rattle. "My tummy... it hurts so bad..."
"Vincent! What did they do to her?! What did they do?!" Elena screamed, rocking her child against her chest, her mind fracturing into pure insanity.
Vincent dropped to his knees, his massive hands trembling violently as he touched the little girl’s clammy forehead. He smelled the edge of the tipped glass, his eyes widening in pure horror.
*"Belladonna and cyanide hybrid,"* Vincent rasped, his voice breaking—a sound Elena had never imagined coming from the ruthless Don. "A Russian military blend. It paralyzes the respiratory system."
Marco rushed into the room, holding his radio. "Dr. Rossi is en route, but he's fifteen minutes out! Boss, the perimeter was breached through the old drainage tunnel. The nurse, Mrs. Gable... we found her in the pantry. Bound and gagged. Whoever slipped the poison into the milk did it twenty minutes ago."
"She has less than an hour," Vincent said, his jaw shaking with a mixture of grief and apocalyptic rage. He pulled out his phone, slamming numbers onto the screen, barking orders to mobilize every medical asset, every black-market contact in the Midwest.
"It won't work, Donati."
A voice spoke from the corner of the room.
Elena turned her head, clutching Lily against her bosom.
Sitting on the windowsill, hidden behind the fluttering curtain, was a cheap black burner phone, its speaker glowing blue, on speakerphone.
Vincent snatched the phone, his voice vibrating with the fury of a thousand demons. "Dante. If you let this child die, there is no corner of this earth where I will not find you and skin you alive."
A low, familiar chuckle drifted through the tiny speaker—a voice that sounded horrifyingly like Vincent’s, but twisted with madness.
*"Hello, little brother. It's been a long ten years in the snow,"* Dante Donati purred through the static. *"The little girl doesn't have to die. I have the antidote right here in my hand. One injection, and her lungs clear within sixty seconds."*
"What do you want?" Vincent roared. "Take the city! Take the money! Take the docks! Take everything I own!"
*"I don't want your empire, Vincent. I want the ledger. And I want the girl who carries the Vance bloodline,"* Dante’s voice hardened into steel. *"Elena comes to me alone. No guards. No tracking devices. And especially... without you."*
Elena’s heart stopped. She looked down at Lily, who let out a weak, agonizing gasp, her small fingers clutching at Elena’s collar.
*"The Saint Jude Catacombs beneath the South Side ruins,"* Dante whispered. *"Midnight. If I see a single Donati soldier within two miles... I pour the antidote down the storm drain. Forty-five minutes, Elena. Tick, tock."*
May you like
The call went dead.
***
