Chapter 2 - THE LABEL BENEATH THE LABEL
The silence in the room was absolute.
Three heavily armed men stood frozen, their hands hovering near their holsters.
Luca Moretti stared at the sleek plastic injection pen resting on the mahogany table. His chest rose and fell in shallow, jagged breaths.
Vanessa’s face went from pale to a furious, blotchy red.
“You’re out of your mind,” she snapped, her voice piercing the quiet. “It’s a vitamin peptide. B-12 and an experimental longevity compound. Dr. Aris prescribed it for his stress.”
I didn’t look at her. I looked at Luca.
His skin was clammy. His pupils were sluggish. He was exhibiting classic signs of severe hypoglycemia—a state that, if left untreated, would lead to seizures, coma, and death.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, keeping my voice steady and authoritative. “Are you feeling a sudden, intense hunger? Is your heart racing? Do your lips feel numb?”
Luca gripped the arms of his leather chair. His knuckles were white.
“Yes,” he gritted out.
I picked up the injection pen. It looked expensive. Custom. A sleek silver casing with a sophisticated black label that read: Aris Medical - Proprietary Blend.
“It’s a custom compound,” Vanessa repeated, taking a step toward me. “Give it back. You’re fired. Get your things and get out of this house.”
“No,” Luca rasped.
He didn’t look at her. He looked at me.
“Prove it,” he ordered.
I turned the pen over in my hands. Medical suppliers who make high-end "custom" wellness injections often use standard pharmaceutical delivery devices and simply slap a vanity label over the original.
I dug my thumbnail under the edge of the thick black Aris Medical sticker.
I peeled it back.
Underneath was the original factory print.
Bright orange letters.
Novolog. Fast-acting Insulin.
I placed the pen on the desk, right in front of Luca.
He stared at the bright orange letters. The realization hit him like a physical blow. The weakness, the confusion, the hospital trips—he hadn't been sick. He had been systematically poisoned by the woman he was about to marry.
“Rocco,” Luca said.
The largest of the three guards stepped forward. “Boss.”
“Take Vanessa to the east wing. Lock the door. If she makes a phone call, break her fingers.”
Vanessa screamed as Rocco grabbed her by the arm. “Luca! I didn’t know! Dr. Aris gave it to me! I swear to God, I didn’t know!”
They dragged her out.
The second the doors closed, Luca’s eyes rolled back. He slumped sideways in his chair.
“I need orange juice and three sugar packets!” I yelled at the remaining guards. “Now!”
Ten minutes later, I had forced the liquid down his throat. I sat on the edge of his desk, watching the color slowly return to his face. The trembling in his hands stopped.
He looked up at me. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by a cold, terrifying clarity.
“You saved my life,” he said quietly.
“I did my job.”
“Why would my doctor give her insulin to kill me?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But we need to check the rest of your medical supplies.”
I walked over to the leather medical bag Vanessa had left on the sofa. I unzipped it, searching for more vials.
My hand brushed against something hard and heavy at the bottom of the bag.
It wasn't a medical vial.
I pulled it out.
It was a tarnished silver pocket watch, heavily dented on one side.
Luca’s breath hitched. He stood up, pushing past his weakness, and snatched the watch from my hand.
“Where did you find this?” he demanded, his voice shaking with a sudden, violent rage.
“In Vanessa’s bag,” I said. “Whose is it?”
May you like
Luca stared at the dented silver.
“It belonged to my younger brother, Marcus,” Luca whispered. “He was wearing it the night he burned to death in his car two years ago.”
