THE NINTH BALLOT

Adrian stared at the photograph inside the antique watch. The silence in the laundry room was heavy, broken only by the hiss of the steam press.

“The engineer,” Adrian murmured, his voice hollow. “Celeste knew the man investigating the warehouse. She was in a relationship with him.”

“She wasn't just in a relationship with him,” I pointed out, looking closely at the faded photo. “Look at the date stamped on the bottom corner. 1998.”

Adrian frowned, taking the watch from my hands. “Celeste was only a child in 1998.”

“That’s not Celeste,” I breathed. “That’s her mother.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. He snapped the watch shut and looked at Maria. “Thank you. Your family is safe. I give you my word.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of the laundry room. I had to jog to keep up with his long, furious strides.

“Where are we going?” I asked, keeping my voice low as we entered the main hall.

“To see my mother,” Adrian said. “If Celeste is orchestrating this to bankrupt the East River sector, she’s the one who blackmailed my mother with that letter. I need to know what’s in it.”

We found Rose Bellandi in her private study on the second floor. The room smelled of dried lavender and old books. She was sitting in a high-backed leather chair, a delicate porcelain teacup resting on the saucer in her lap.

She looked up, startled by Adrian’s sudden entrance.

“You’re supposed to be drawing up the transparency agreement,” Rose said sharply.

“The agreement doesn't matter, Mother,” Adrian said, placing the antique pocket watch and the yellow work order on her desk. “Celeste caused the collapse. She ordered the men into the basement, and she paid off the engineer to delay the warning. She’s trying to destroy us from the inside.”

Rose stared at the items on her desk. Her hand trembled slightly, making the teacup rattle against the saucer.

“She threatened you tonight, didn't she?” Adrian pressed, leaning over the desk. “She’s the one who threatened to release my father’s letter. What does it say, Mother? What is she holding over you?”

Rose closed her eyes. She looked incredibly old in that moment.

“Your father didn’t die of a heart attack, Adrian,” she whispered.

The air in the room seemed to freeze. Adrian went perfectly still. “What?”

“He was murdered,” Rose said, opening her eyes. Tears were pooling in the corners. “Twenty years ago. He found out that someone in our inner circle was stealing from the family trusts. He wrote me a letter the night before he died, telling me he had proof. The next morning, he was dead in his bed. The family doctor covered it up to prevent a war.”

“Who?” Adrian demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying rage. “Who killed him?”

“The letter didn't name the killer,” Rose said. “But it named the family they were working for. The Moretti family.”

I gasped. The Morettis were the Bellandis' oldest, bloodiest rivals. They had been driven out of the city three decades ago.

“Celeste’s maiden name is Moretti,” Rose continued, her voice breaking. “Her mother was the sister of the Moretti boss. When your father took the East River territory from them, he ruined them. Celeste has spent her entire life infiltrating our family to get it back.”

Adrian stood up straight, his face a mask of cold, unadulterated fury. “She was going to marry me just to bankrupt me.”

“The blackmail wasn't just about forcing my vote,” Rose said, setting her teacup down on the desk. She reached into her drawer and pulled out a heavy, gold fountain pen. “This was your father’s. The person who threatened me today sent this to me as proof they had the original letter. They said if I didn't stall the succession vote, they would leak the letter to the Commission and prove our family has been weak and infiltrated for twenty years. It would destroy our standing.”

Adrian picked up his father’s pen. “Where is Celeste now?”

“She told me she was going to the west wing to pack,” Rose said, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Adrian, I feel so...”

Rose suddenly stopped talking. Her eyes widened, staring blankly at the far wall.

“Mother?” Adrian asked.

Rose gasped, a horrible, wet sound. Her hands flew to her throat. She pitched forward, knocking the porcelain teacup off the desk. It shattered on the floor.

“Mother!” Adrian shouted, lunging around the desk to catch her before she hit the ground.

I dropped to my knees beside them. Rose was convulsing, her lips turning a faint shade of blue.

I looked at the shattered teacup. A pungent, bitter smell rose from the spilled liquid. It didn't smell like lavender. It smelled like bitter almonds and oleander.