Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Hallway
I froze in the doorway, my heart hammering against my ribs. The almond scent—cyanide, or something equally lethal—hit my senses with terrifying clarity. Someone in this house was trying to finish the job Dominic Rossi’s enemies had started, and they were using the patient’s nightly water pitcher to do it.
Stepping back into the hallway, I quietly pulled the bedroom door shut until it clicked softly. The corridor was dimly lit by antique wall sconces casting long, skeletal shadows across the Persian carpets.
“Leo?” I called out in a sharp whisper.
From around the corner, heavy footsteps approached, and Leo emerged, his face a mask of cold professionalism. His eyes darted to my face, searching for signs of the usual panic or trauma. Finding none, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed his features.
“You’re still in one piece,” Leo noted, stopping a few feet away. “Mr. Rossi didn't throw anything at you?”
“He tried, but I have better reflexes than the last six,” I said evenly, keeping my voice low. “More importantly, someone was just standing outside this door.”
Leo’s posture stiffened instantly. All pretense of a polite household manager vanished, replaced by the lethal alertness of a trained bodyguard. “Who?”
“I didn't see a face, but they were carrying a silver tray with a water pitcher,” I said, stepping closer. “And before you ask, no, I didn't taste it, but I smelled it. Almonds. Someone is trying to poison him, Leo. And it’s coming from inside the estate.”
Leo’s eyes narrowed into slits. He stared at me for a long moment, weighing my words, weighing my presence in the house, testing whether I was an asset or a liability.
“Mr. Rossi has many enemies outside these walls, Miss Hayes,” Leo said carefully. “Enemies inside are a luxury we do not tolerate.”
“Then you might want to check the kitchen staff, because someone with access to his private quarters is playing executioner,” I countered, crossing my arms. “And if he dies on my watch, I don't get paid, my rent bounces, and I get thrown onto the street. I am very protective of my apartment, Leo. I suggest you find out who’s carrying that tray before I start administering very painful broad-spectrum antibiotics to the wrong people.”
A faint, grim smile touched the corner of Leo’s mouth. “You have remarkable survival instincts for an emergency room nurse.”
“ER nurses see worse than mob bosses on a Friday night,” I shot back. “Now, get me a fresh, sealed bottle of mineral water from the downstairs pantry, and bring me a secure medical logbook. We’re locking down this suite starting tonight.”
When I re-entered Dominic’s bedroom, the heavy heat still clung to the air, but his breathing had evened out into a steady, rhythmic cadence. He was sleeping, truly sleeping, for the first time in days. I pulled a chair close to the bedside, dragging it over the hardwood floor with a soft scrape, and sat down.
May you like
As the digital clock on the nightstand ticked past midnight, Dominic’s hand twitched across the sheets. Without waking, his fingers brushed against my sleeve. A jolt of electric static sparked up my arm—half-fear, half-fascination. I didn't pull away.
By 3:00 AM, the storm outside had grown violent, battering the sprawling windows of the Rossi estate with sheets of freezing rain. That was when the second set of footsteps echoed softly down the hall—not sneaking this time, but deliberate, heavy, and stopping right outside our door.
