Chapter 4 - THE POISON IN THE MILK
The black SUV tore through the Vermont gates, tires screeching against the gravel as it fishtailed into the courtyard of the Moretti estate. Before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop, Dominic flung the door open and sprinted toward the main entrance.
"Marco, secure the perimeter! No one leaves!" Dominic roared, drawing a heavy SIG Sauer pistol from his shoulder holster.
He burst through the front doors, his heart hammering against his ribs with a sickening terror he had never felt in all his years of gang wars and executions. If Evelyn had harmed Mia — if she had touched his son — there wouldn't be enough left of her to bury.
"Evelyn!" Dominic bellowed, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
The house was deathly quiet. Too quiet.
He sprinted down the east wing corridor toward the kitchen and the adjoining sunroom. As he approached the threshold, he saw Evelyn standing by the counter, calmly pouring warm milk from a silver kettle into a specialized child's cup.
Standing a few feet away, holding a small dropper bottle with a clinical, chilling precision, was a man Dominic recognized instantly: Thomas, the estate’s private pharmacist.
And tied securely to a wooden chair in the corner of the pantry, with a thick strip of duct tape across her mouth, was Elena. Her eyes were wide with terror, streaming with tears as she thrashed against her bonds, trying desperately to warn him.
And Mia? Mia was nowhere to be seen.
"Evelyn," Dominic said, stepping into the kitchen, his pistol raised and pointed directly between the housekeeper's eyes. "Drop the pitcher."
Evelyn didn't flinch. She set the silver kettle down with a soft, deliberate clink. She turned around, her face devoid of the warm, practiced smile she had worn for a decade. Her expression was hard, cold, and utterly ruthless.
"You're home early, Dominic," Evelyn said calmly, smoothing the front of her immaculate apron. "I told Thomas the dosage needed to be doubled after today's incident. The boy is starting to wake up. That little rat of a maid let him hear something she shouldn't have."
"Where is my daughter?" Elena muffled a scream through the duct tape, her body convulsing with panic.
"She's upstairs in the nursery, playing nicely with the nanny," Evelyn replied smoothly, looking back at Dominic. "Your brother sends his regards, by the way. Marcus wants the estate transferred by midnight, or the girl and the boy take a permanent nap. Same poison, different cup."
Thomas reached slowly toward his jacket pocket, his fingers curling around the grip of a concealed firearm.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger.
The gunshot deafened the kitchen. Thomas let out a sharp gasp as a round caught him squarely in the shoulder, spinning him around and crashing him into the pantry shelves. Glass jars shattered everywhere, raining preserves and pickles across the floor.
Evelyn lunged for the silver kettle, grabbing a small vial of clear liquid, but Dominic was faster. He crossed the kitchen in two massive strides, slamming the housekeeper against the marble counter with enough force to crack the granite.
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"Where is Leo?" Dominic snarled, pressing the cold barrel of his pistol against her temple.
Evelyn smiled, a bloody, defiant grin. "Too late, Dominic. The milk was already delivered to his room ten minutes ago."
