Chapter 2 - THE SNAKE IN SILKThe tension in the master suite was thick enough to cut with a blade.
Dr. Harris stared at the shattered porcelain, his eyes wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He knew. We all knew. Chamomile tea didn't corrode wool carpet fibers, and it certainly didn't smell like cyanide derivatives.
"Elena," I said, my voice chillingly calm. "Take Lily back downstairs. Lock your door. Do not open it for anyone except my head of security, Marco."
Elena didn't hesitate. She grabbed Lily’s hand and rushed out, closing the heavy mahogany door behind her.
I turned my gaze slow to Vanessa. She stood tall, her posture immaculate, adjusting the diamond bracelet on her wrist as if nothing had happened.
"Julian, you can't possibly believe—"
"Dr. Harris," I cut her off, not even looking at the doctor. "Leave us. Take the nurse. Tell Marco to put two armed men outside this door. No one enters. No one leaves."
"Mr. Moretti, your vitals are dangerously unstable," Dr. Harris warned. "Your core temperature is dropping toward severe hypothermia again."
"Out," I growled.
The doctor and nurse scrambled out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar until the heavy footsteps of my guards settled outside.
Once we were alone, the faint hum of the portable heater filled the space. Rain beat relentlessly against the glass terrace doors.
"You're making a spectacle of yourself, Julian," Vanessa said softly, walking over to the fireplace. "A little girl makes a silly comment, and you treat me like a criminal? After everything I’ve done for you? I’ve stayed by your side while your own lieutenants were eyeing your throne."
"Why 2:17 a.m.?" I asked quietly, leaning my head back against the pillows.
She paused, her back turned to me. "What?"
"Every night. At exactly 2:17 a.m., my body shuts down. I start freezing from the inside out. The doctors thought it was an autoimmune crisis. A rare blood disease." I let out a dry, hollow laugh. "It’s a timed toxin, isn't it? Something fat-soluble. Administered in tiny, precise doses every evening so it builds up in the fatty tissues, then spikes when my metabolic rate drops at night."
Vanessa slowly turned around. The loving, devoted fiancée persona was gone. Her blue eyes were dead, vacant, and colder than the storm raging outside Lake Michigan.
"You always were smarter than the rest of those gorilla mobsters," she said, her voice stripped of its sweet warmth. "That’s why you survived so long."
The truth hit me like a physical blow. The woman I had trusted with my empire, my life, and my bed was systematically murdering me.
"Why?" I managed to ask, fighting off a sudden wave of tremors as the cold began its nightly creep into my hands. "You had everything. The money, the status, the Moretti name..."
"The Moretti name is a target, Julian!" she hissed, taking a step toward the bed. "You think I wanted to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for a car bomb or a rival hitman? You built a billion-dollar empire, but you’re tied to the street. I don't want the street. I want the clean money. The real estate. The offshore holdings."
"You can't inherit if we aren't married yet," I pointed out, my jaw tightening as my teeth began to chatter.
Vanessa smiled—a cruel, beautiful curve of her lips. "The wedding is in six weeks. The toxin was supposed to leave you completely bedridden by next week, incompetent to run the business. As your legally designated power of attorney, I would assume control of the family trusts. And when you finally died of 'unexplained organ failure' a month after the wedding... I would be the grieving, extremely wealthy widow."
"Marco... will kill you," I forced out through clenching teeth. Rattle. Rattle. The icy fever was taking hold. My vision began to blur around the edges.
"Marco takes orders from whoever pays him," Vanessa whispered, leaning down until her face was inches from mine. "And right now, Julian... you look like a dying man having a delusion."
She reached out and gently patted my cheek. Her skin felt scorching hot compared to my freezing flesh.
May you like
"Rest now, darling," she cooed. "2:17 a.m. is coming. And tonight... you don't have your tea to slow down the reaction."
She turned on her high heels and walked out of the room, leaving me trapped in my own body, shivering violently beneath six thousand dollars of useless cashmere while the clock on the nightstand ticked inexorably toward 2:00 a.m.
