Chapter 3 - The Traitor's Tongue
Three minutes later, Marcus Romano stepped into the study.
He was thirty-two years old, tall, handsome, with the same sharp jawline and dark hair as Alessio, but his eyes were wide, restless, and rimmed with red. He wore a navy silk dressing gown over a crisp white shirt, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
Two armed guards stood outside the doorway, their hands resting on their holstered weapons.
"Alessio, what the hell is this?" Marcus demanded, his voice echoing loudly in the quiet room. "Dominic locked the wing doors! The staff are terrified downstairs! Is Leo okay or not?"
Alessio sat behind his heavy desk, his hands folded neatly on the leather blotter. He didn't look up immediately.
"Leo is fine," Alessio said softly.
Marcus visibly exhaled, his shoulders dropping. "Thank God. The nurse said he was choking—"
"He wasn't choking on food, Marcus," Alessio interrupted, his eyes slowly rising to meet his brother's gaze. "Someone introduced a synthetic enamel bead into his throat. A ten-millimeter custom bead manufactured with industrial lacquer."
Marcus frowned, stepping closer to the desk. "A bead? Where would a bead come from?"
"It came from someone who wanted him dead without leaving a bullet hole," Alessio said. "Someone who wanted it to look like an accident."
Marcus shook his head in apparent disgust. "That's insane. Who could get into the nursery? The house is locked down! We have twenty guards on duty!"
"The nursery camera went dark at 1:54 AM," Alessio said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "It was shut off using a physical hardware key. Your hardware key, Marcus."
Marcus went entirely still.
The color drained from his face so fast it was as if a valve had been opened beneath his skin. His hands came out of his dressing gown pockets, hovering uselessly in the air between them.
"Alessio... wait," Marcus stammered, his voice rising an octave. "That's... that's impossible! My key is in my safe in the east wing! I haven't touched it in weeks!"
"Julian pulled the hardware logs three minutes ago," Alessio said flatly. "Key Number Three was inserted into the local terminal on the ground floor at 1:54 AM."
"Someone stole it!" Marcus yelled, stepping forward, but Dominic immediately stepped into his path, placing a heavy hand against Marcus's chest. "Alessio, listen to me! I swear on our mother's grave! I didn't touch the server! Why would I hurt Leo? He's my nephew! He's a baby!"
I watched Marcus carefully from the corner of the room.
His distress appeared genuine. His heart rate was elevated, his pupils dilated, his throat working in rapid, panicked swallows. But in my years as an emergency trauma nurse, I had learned to look past the loud, obvious signs of fear and pay attention to small, involuntary physical contradictions.
Marcus’s left coat sleeve was rolled up slightly.
On the soft skin of his inner forearm, right below the elbow crease, was a small, circular red mark—no larger than a pinprick, surrounded by a tiny halo of localized bruising.
A venipuncture mark.
Fresh. Less than twelve hours old.
"Mr. Romano," I spoke up, stepping out from the shadows near the bookcase.
Marcus spun around, glaring at me with dark hatred. "Shut up! You're the nanny! You have no standing in this house!"
"Look at his arm," I said to Alessio, ignoring Marcus entirely.
Alessio’s eyes flicked to Marcus's left forearm. "Dominic. Hold him."
"Get your hands off me!" Marcus screamed as Dominic grabbed his wrists with iron grips, twisting his arm so the inner elbow faced the desk lamp.
Alessio stood up, stepped around the desk, and pulled a small magnifying glass from his drawer. He leaned down, inspecting the mark on Marcus’s skin.
"Sodium thiopental," I noted calmly. "Or a similar short-acting hypnotic agent. Administered intravenously. The bruising pattern indicates the needle was inserted quickly by someone else while he was incapacitated."
Alessio looked from the needle mark to his brother's terrified face.
"When did you sleep last night, Marcus?" Alessio asked softly.
"I... I went to bed at eleven," Marcus stammered, tears forming in his eyes. "I had a drink in the library with... with Evelyn. Then I went up to my room. I woke up when Dominic came in!"
Evelyn.
Alessio’s eyes narrowed into slits.
Evelyn was the sister of Alessio’s late wife, Isabella. She had lived in the west wing of the estate since Isabella's passing ten months ago, ostensibly to help care for the household and manage the estate’s charitable foundations.
"Dominic," Alessio said quietly.
May you like
"Sir?"
"Bring Evelyn up. And bring Dr. Rossi back from his car."
