Chapter 4 - THE DOCTOR'S ULTIMATUMThe morning sun cast a clinical, blinding glare across the polished marble of Domenico's private study. Dr. Adrian Cole stood by the mahogany desk, his leather medical bag clicked open, neatly lined with vials of clear liquid and sterile syringes.
Domenico sat by the window, staring out at the manicured gardens where little Nina and her mother had vanished into the early dawn mist hours ago.
"Good morning, Domenico," Dr. Cole said with his trademark, grandfatherly smile, walking over with a paper cup containing the morning dose. "You look a bit pale today. A bit tense. Are we still experiencing phantom aches?"
Domenico turned his wheelchair around slowly. His face was a mask of cold, impassive granite. He did not take the cup.
"Dr. Cole," Domenico said softly, his voice echoing in the vast room. "How long have we known each other?"
Cole blinked, his professional smile faltering for a microsecond before he quickly recovered it. "Ten years, my boy. Through thick and thin. I saved your father, I’ve watched you grow into a titan. Why do you ask such a question on such a glorious morning?"
"Ten years," Domenico repeated. He reached slowly into his vest pocket, pulled out a small glass vial, and placed it gently on the center of the mahogany desk. Inside the vial sat a single white pill. "And in all those years, I never once doubted your hands. I trusted you with my body, my life, and my family's legacy."
Dr. Cole’s eyes dropped to the vial. The color drained entirely from his face, leaving his skin the shade of old parchment. The clinical composure cracked instantly, revealing the cold, calculating opportunist beneath.
"Where did you get that?" Cole whispered, his voice losing its warm paternal cadence, turning razor-sharp.
"A little girl with clean hands and an innocent heart found it on your way out yesterday," Domenico replied, rolling his chair two inches closer. "Vera Palermo at Columbia analyzed it for me, Adrian. Tetrodotoxin-Derivative B. A custom synthesis. Tell me... did Silvio pay you in offshore accounts, or did he promise you a seat on the Vossi syndicate board once I was six feet under?"
Cole stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, the doctor let out a dry, chilling chuckle. He snapped his leather medical bag shut with a sharp clack.
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"You arrogant fool," Cole sneered, stepping back, shedding the mask of loyalty entirely. "You think you're still the great Don Vossi? You're a cripple sitting in a chair, waiting for a bullet to finish what the ambush started. Even if you know, what can you do? Call the police? The Vossi empire has bought every judge from here to Albany. Try to fight us? Your nervous system is already rotting from the inside out. By tonight, the second dose would have put you into a permanent coma anyway."
Cole reached inside his coat, his hand sliding toward a concealed nickel-plated revolver. "It's a pity. You could have died peacefully in your sleep. Now, it's going to be messy."
