Chapter 2 - THE TABLET IN THE SHADOWS

The medical wing of the Romano mansion was fully equipped with hospital-grade monitors and IV stands, a necessary precaution for a family that occasionally encountered occupational hazards.

When Dominic and I rushed into the sterile white room, Mrs. Whitmore was lying in the center bed. She looked incredibly fragile, her usually stern face drawn and pale. An oxygen cannula rested beneath her nose, and a heart monitor beeped steadily beside her.

Dominic stepped to the edge of the bed. He didn't offer comfort. He offered a reckoning.

"You're awake," Dominic said coldly. "Good. Because you have exactly three minutes to explain why you gave Victoria the combination to my father’s safe, and why my uncle’s bloody money clip was found in your hand."

Mrs. Whitmore’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at Dominic, then at me. Her gaze lingered on my swollen belly, a flash of genuine regret passing over her hardened features.

"I... I didn't want to hurt the girl," Mrs. Whitmore wheezed, her voice raspy from the paralytic drug. "Or the baby. I told him it was going too far."

"Told who?" Dominic demanded, leaning closer.

Mrs. Whitmore closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her wrinkled cheek. "Carlo found out I was helping Victoria fence the stolen jewelry. He confronted me in the greenhouse. He said he would tell you everything... unless I helped him kill your father."

"So Carlo poisoned you to keep you quiet?" I asked, stepping forward.

Mrs. Whitmore shook her head weakly. "No. Carlo isn't smart enough to orchestrate this. Carlo is just a blunt instrument. He was trying to poison the soup, yes. But he didn't give me this paralytic. And he didn't plant those pills in your cart, Emily."

"Then who did?" Dominic pressed, his patience evaporating.

Mrs. Whitmore opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly, the heart monitor beside her bed erupted into a frantic, high-pitched alarm.

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.

Mrs. Whitmore gasped, her back arching off the mattress. Her hands clawed at her throat.

"Doctor!" Dominic roared.

The estate doctor rushed in, shoving us aside to administer a counter-agent, but it was too late. The secondary wave of the paralytic poison had hit her heart. Within seconds, the frantic beeping settled into a long, continuous flatline.

Mrs. Whitmore was dead.

Dominic stared at the lifeless body, his chest heaving with silent fury. The only person who knew the identity of the true mastermind had just been silenced forever.

I stumbled backward into the hallway, the overwhelming stress of the day finally breaking me. A sudden, sharp cramp seized my lower abdomen. I gasped, doubling over and gripping the wall for support.

"Emily!" Dominic was beside me in an instant. The feared mafia boss caught me before I could fall, his strong arms wrapping around me. "Doctor! Get out here!"

The doctor hurried out, assessing my pale face and rapid breathing. "Her blood pressure is spiking. The stress is inducing Braxton Hicks contractions. If she doesn't calm down immediately, she could go into premature labor. She needs absolute rest."

Without a word, Dominic scooped me up into his arms. I felt incredibly light against his massive frame. He carried me down the long, carpeted corridor, completely ignoring the stunned looks of his security guards.

He didn't take me back to the guest room. He carried me into the estate’s sprawling, two-story library, a quiet sanctuary filled with the smell of old paper and leather. He gently laid me down on a plush velvet sofa near the fireplace.

"Breathe, Emily," Dominic instructed softly, pulling a cashmere throw blanket over my trembling legs. "You are safe. Grace is safe."

"I'm scared, Dominic," I whispered, clutching my belly. "Whoever killed Mrs. Whitmore... they're still in this house. They planted those pills in my cart. They wanted me to take the fall."

Dominic’s expression darkened. "I will tear this house apart brick by brick until I find them. You rest. I'm going to have Rocco lock down the entire staff in the dining room."

He turned and walked out, pulling the heavy oak doors shut behind him. I heard the distinctive click of the lock engaging. He had locked me in for my own protection.

I lay on the sofa, focusing on my breathing until the tight cramps in my stomach finally began to ease. Grace fluttered against my ribs, reassuring me that she was okay.

As my heart rate slowed, my eyes wandered around the dimly lit library.

My gaze settled on the massive mahogany desk in the center of the room. Lying on top of it was the handwritten dosing schedule we had found beside Antonio’s bed—the schedule that had been deliberately altered to overdose him.

I pushed myself up off the sofa, curiosity overcoming my exhaustion. I walked over to the desk and picked up the paper.

I stared at the handwriting. The swooping Ys, the sharp, rigid Ts.

It looked incredibly familiar.

I closed my eyes, forcing my exhausted brain to remember. Where had I seen this handwriting before?

The employment agency.

Three weeks ago, when I was sitting in the cramped office of the elite staffing agency, desperate for work, the agency representative had personally filled out my contract. I had watched him write my name with those exact same swooping Ys.

But the agency representative wasn't just a recruiter.

"Julian Thorne," I whispered to the empty room.

Julian Thorne. Dominic’s trusted corporate lawyer. The man who managed all of the Romano family’s legal affairs, trusts, and hiring contracts for the estate.

Julian had personally interviewed me. He had known about my pregnant state. He had known about my mother’s medical bills. He had known I was desperate, vulnerable, and completely alone in the world.

He had hired me specifically to be the perfect, believable scapegoat for Antonio's murder.

Reversal. The mastermind wasn't Carlo, acting out of greed. It wasn't Victoria, stealing to pay off debts. It was Julian Thorne, manipulating everyone from the shadows.

I had to tell Dominic.

I turned toward the library doors and grabbed the brass handle, rattling it. "Dominic! Guard! Open the door!"

No answer.

I knocked harder, my voice rising in panic. "Please! Someone open the door!"

Suddenly, a faint smell reached my nose.

Acrid. Sharp. Chemical.

I looked down at the bottom edge of the heavy oak doors.