Chapter 4 - THE BREAKFAST TRAP
Morning sunlight broke through the heavy rain clouds, casting long, pale beams across the dining room of the Duca estate. The massive mahogany table was set for three, as it always was. Fine china, crystal glasses, and heavy silver cutlery gleamed under the crystal chandelier.
Lorenzo sat at the head of the table, dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit. He held a newspaper in his hands, sipping a cup of black espresso. Outwardly, he was the picture of calm, commanding authority. Inwardly, he was a coiled spring, vibrating with a lethal, suppressed energy.
At exactly 7:30 AM, the dining room doors opened.
Vivian Chen glided into the room. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with sharp, elegant features, perfectly coiffed dark hair, and a designer silk dress that hugged her slender frame. She wore a warm, sympathetic smile—the same smile she had worn for three years while she slowly murdered his only child.
In her hands, she carried a silver tray. On the tray sat a small crystal pitcher filled with a vibrant, violet-colored syrup, and a small glass.
"Good morning, Lorenzo, darling," Vivian chimed, her voice melodic and soothing. She leaned down and kissed his cheek.
Lorenzo did not flinch. He did not pull away. He simply turned the page of his newspaper. "Good morning, Vivian."
"How is our little angel this morning?" she asked, her brow furrowing in perfectly feigned concern. She set the tray down near Lorenzo’s right hand and poured a small amount of the purple syrup into the glass. "I was just going up to check on him. I have his vitamins ready."
"He had a difficult night," Lorenzo said, his voice flat. "The doctors moved him."
Vivian’s hand froze mid-pour. A microscopic flicker of alarm crossed her perfectly composed face, gone as quickly as it appeared. "Moved him? To a hospital? Lorenzo, you know his immune system can't handle public facilities."
"Not a hospital," Lorenzo said, finally lowering the newspaper and looking directly into her eyes. "A secure location. A sterile environment. The doctors believe there might be an environmental contaminant in his room."
Vivian swallowed hard. She set the pitcher down. "An environmental contaminant? Like mold?"
"Like synthetic Thallium bonded to a molecular lipid masking agent," Lorenzo said softly.
The silence that slammed into the dining room was absolute and deafening.
Vivian stopped breathing. The color drained from her flawless skin, leaving her looking like a porcelain doll. Her eyes darted toward the dining room doors, calculating the distance, calculating her odds.
"I... I don't understand," she stammered, taking a slow step backward. "What does that mean?"
Lorenzo slowly stood up from the table. He picked up the small glass filled with the purple syrup. He held it out toward her.
"It means," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping into the terrifying, gravelly register that made rival bosses beg for their lives, "that I am thirsty, Vivian. And since you are so dedicated to holistic health, I think you should join me in a morning supplement. Drink it."
Vivian stared at the purple liquid. Her hands began to tremble violently. "Lorenzo, please. That’s specially formulated for Lucas’s weight and metabolism. It would make me sick."
"Drink it," Lorenzo repeated, stepping closer. "Drink it, or I will have Daniel drag you down to the basement, nail your hands to a wooden chair, and force a funnel down your throat until you drown in it."
Panic finally shattered her mask. Vivian shrieked, spun around, and lunged for the heavy double doors leading to the kitchen.
Before her hand could even touch the brass handle, the doors swung inward. Daniel stood there, a massive wall of muscle in a tactical suit, his sidearm already drawn and leveled directly at her chest. Behind him stood four more guards, their faces grim and unyielding.
Vivian backed away, tripping over the hem of her silk dress, crashing into the edge of the mahogany table.
Lorenzo walked up to her, the glass still in his hand. He looked down at the woman who had shared his dinner table, who had pretended to love his son, who had methodically orchestrated a three-year nightmare.
May you like
He didn't yell. He simply poured the purple syrup onto the beautiful Persian rug at her feet. It stained the expensive fibers like dark blood.
"Take her to the soundproof room in the sub-basement," Lorenzo commanded, not breaking eye contact with Vivian as she began to sob hysterically. "Strap her to the chair. Do not let her sleep. Do not let her speak. I will be down in ten minutes."
