Chapter 5 - The Physician's Panic
-5-
The temperature in the grand dining hall seemed to drop twenty degrees in a single heartbeat. The silence that followed Nina’s innocent declaration was so absolute that the distant crashing of the Long Island waves against the cliffs echoed clearly through the tall stained-glass windows.
Massimo’s gaze shifted slowly from the tiny white pill in the toddler's palm to Dr. Julian Hale, standing rigidly in the doorway. The physician’s face was slick with a sudden, greasy sheen of cold sweat, his hands trembling so violently that the leather medical charts in his grip crinkled loudly.
"Dr. Hale," Massimo said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that had made syndicate capos tremble for decades. "Is there a reason my doctor's prescription medication is ending up on the library floor for a three-year-old child to pick up?"
Dr. Hale swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing frantically as he forced a tight, unconvincing laugh. "Ah... an oversight, Mr. Rinaldi. Just a routine vitamin supplement. My apologies. I must have dropped a capsule from my travel case during yesterday's consultation. Children are naturally curious, you know how it is."
"A vitamin," Massimo repeated slowly, his gray eyes narrowing as they locked onto the doctor’s panicked expression. He reached down with fingers that were steady as rock, gently picking the small white pill from Nina’s palm and holding it up to the light. "A very specific, unbranded tablet. Tell me, Julian, what kind of vitamin looks like a neuro-inhibitor?"
Dean Foster intervened instantly, flashing his signature smooth, reassuring smile as he pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. His stride was casual, but his eyes were sharp and calculating.
"Come on, Massimo," Dean chuckled, walking over and placing a warm, friendly hand on the back of Massimo’s wheelchair. "You’re reading too much into it. The man is a premier physician, not a mad scientist. Hale’s got a million different medications in that bag of his for your nerve rehabilitation. It’s completely natural that a stray pill would slip out. Let the doctor be, let Carla take the kid back to the kitchen, and let's get back to breakfast."
Massimo didn't move. He held the pill between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its smooth, engineered texture. Something in the air felt wrong—an instinctive, primal warning bell that had kept him alive through three decades of mob wars began screaming in the back of his mind.
"Carla," Massimo commanded quietly, without taking his eyes off Dr. Hale. "Take Nina back to the quarters."
"Yes, Mr. Rinaldi," Carla murmured, rushing forward with a pale face, scooping Nina into her arms and hurrying out of the room as fast as her legs could carry her. She knew danger when she saw it, and the atmosphere in the dining hall had just turned lethal.
Once the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind the housekeeper and her daughter, Massimo turned his piercing gaze back to Dean.
"You’re very eager to dismiss this, Dean," Massimo noted softly.
"I’m eager to keep our focus on the wedding and the transition of power, Boss," Dean replied smoothly, though a subtle tension had crept into his jawline. "We've got a lot on our plates. We don't need to turn a dropped vitamin into a conspiracy theory."
Dr. Hale offered a weak, grateful nod to Dean. "Thank you, Mr. Foster. If there’s nothing else, Mr. Rinaldi, I’ll take my leave. I have patients waiting at the clinic in Manhattan."
"Leave the pill," Massimo ordered flatly.
Dr. Hale hesitated, his eyes darting toward the small white tablet resting on the mahogany table. "Mr. Rinaldi, really, it's of no consequence—"
"I said, leave it," Massimo growled, his voice carrying an unmistakable edge of violence. "And leave your medical bag on the sideboard. My guards will escort you to the gate, Julian. You won't be returning to this estate until my security team analyzes every single compound in your possession."
Dr. Hale’s face turned completely white. He looked at Dean, a silent, desperate plea flashing in his eyes. But Dean’s face had hardened into a mask of cold granite; the right-hand man knew when a pawn had become a liability.
Two armed guards stepped out from the shadows near the entrance, their hands resting ominously on the holsters beneath their jackets. Without a word, they grabbed Dr. Hale by the arms and dragged him backward out of the dining hall, his desperate protests fading down the grand corridor.
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Camille stared at Massimo, her green eyes wide with genuine shock. "Massimo, are you insane? You're driving away the only doctor who's managed your spinal recovery!"
"My recovery," Massimo muttered darkly, staring down at the unmarked white pill on the table. "Or my confinement."
