Chapter 2 - The Poison in the Water
By my third week at the Moretti estate, a strange routine had established itself.
Despite Victor Vance’s repeated protests, Alessandro had personally issued an order to the head of security: Maya’s daughter was permitted in the west wing between two and four o'clock every afternoon.
It started with Emma bringing him drawings—scribbles of houses, suns with smiley faces, and monstrosities she claimed were horses. Alessandro would take each drawing, examine it with grave seriousness, and use a silver magnet to pin it directly onto the bulletproof glass of his office windows, right beside fifty-million-dollar real estate deeds.
I worked quietly around them, dusting the mahogany shelves, polishing the silver fixtures, and keeping a watchful eye. I quickly learned that Alessandro was not the monster the media painted him to be, nor was he the helpless victim his enemies assumed. He was a strategist, working sixteen hours a day from his chair, managing a global network of logistics, legal businesses, and private security forces.
However, I also noticed something alarming.
Despite his intense mental discipline, Alessandro’s physical health was deteriorating rapidly. He suffered from sudden bouts of dizziness, muscle tremors in his arms, and a gray, sickly hue that crept onto his skin by mid-afternoon.
"He’s giving up," I heard one of the private nurses whisper in the kitchen one morning. "Spinal injury recovery is tough, but his blood work is all over the place. His liver markers are failing, and his neurological degradation is accelerating. The doctors say it’s secondary complications, but honestly, he looks like he’s fading."
That afternoon, I was cleaning the private lounge adjacent to Alessandro’s bedroom when Victor Vance entered. He didn't notice me behind the tall velvet drapes near the bookcase.
Victor walked over to the small marble counter where Alessandro’s daily medications were arranged in a silver case. Beside the case stood a crystal decanter of mineral water that was refreshed every morning by the private medical staff.
Victor pulled a small, dark glass vial from his inner suit pocket. With practiced, silent precision, he uncapped it, dropped three clear, odorless drops into the decanter, and swirled the water gently until the drops dissolved completely.
My heart stopped. My hand clamped over my mouth to stifle a scream.
Victor set the decanter back down, wiped the rim with his silk handkerchief, and stepped back. He looked at his watch, a satisfied, icy smile touching his lips, before walking out of the room.
I stood frozen behind the curtain, my knees shaking uncontrollably. Poison.
Alessandro wasn't fading because of his spinal injury. He was being systematically poisoned by his oldest friend—the man who handled his legal affairs, his estate, and his security protocols.
I ran out from behind the curtain, staring at the crystal decanter. I knew how the world worked for people like me. I was a widowed, broke housekeeper working on a probationary contract. If I walked up to Alessandro or his armed guards and accused Victor Vance—a billionaire attorney and lifelong Moretti ally—without ironclad proof, I would be eliminated before sunset.
I needed evidence.
Quickly, I pulled a small, sterile plastic sample bottle from my cleaning cart—one I used for mixing concentrated lavender polish. I rinsed it frantically under the tap, dried it with a microfiber cloth, and carefully poured three ounces of the tainted mineral water into the bottle, sealing it tight before hiding it in the bottom of my bag.
Then, taking a deep breath, I grabbed the crystal decanter, walked over to the sink, and poured the remaining water straight down the drain.
I refilled the decanter with fresh tap water, set it back on the marble counter, and wiped my sweaty hands on my apron.
Five minutes later, Alessandro wheeled himself into the lounge, looking exhausted, his brow slick with sweat. He reached toward the decanter to pour himself a glass.
"Mr. Moretti, wait!" I called out, my voice louder than intended.
Alessandro paused, his hand hovering over the glass. He turned his head slowly to look at me. "Is something wrong, Maya?"
"I... I accidentally dropped a piece of cleaning rag into the decanter while dusting," I lied, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. "I just refilled it with tap water, but let me get you a fresh, sealed bottle from the kitchen instead."
Alessandro observed me closely, his steel-gray eyes narrowing as he registered my pale face and trembling hands. "You seem panicked over a drop of water, Maya."
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"I just want everything to be perfect for you, sir," I whispered.
He stared at me for a long, silent moment. Then, slowly, he withdrew his hand from the glass. "Get me a sealed bottle, then."
