Chapter 2 - The Woman With Red Nails
Alessandro did not storm upstairs.
He did not shout.
He did not accuse.
That was not how powerful men survived powerful enemies.
Instead, he stood in the center of the locked kitchen, straightened his cuffs, and became terrifyingly calm.
“Matteo,” he said. “Where is my aunt?”
“In the east breakfast room, sir. With Mr. Raffaele.”
Sophia glanced up.
She had heard that name before.
Everyone in the house had.
Raffaele Duca was Alessandro’s cousin. Charming in public. Cruel in private. The kind of man who kissed old women’s hands at charity dinners and reduced servants to tears before dessert.
He had returned to the estate three weeks earlier after years in London.
The same week Victor had been hired.
The same week Alessandro’s morning routine had changed from coffee served by Matteo to coffee prepared in the main kitchen.
Sophia felt the realization crawl across her skin.
Alessandro turned toward her.
“Mrs. Alvarez.”
She stiffened. “Sir?”
“How long has your daughter been smelling things other people miss?”
Sophia looked down at Emma.
The child had buried her face into the rabbit’s head.
“Since she was a baby,” Sophia said carefully. “She notices cleaning chemicals, spoiled milk, smoke before anyone else. Her father used to say she had a nose like an old hunting dog.”
Her voice cracked on the word father.
Alessandro heard it.
“What happened to him?”
The kitchen seemed to lean closer.
Sophia’s face closed.
“It was ruled natural.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Her hands tightened around Emma’s shoulders.
“My husband, Marco, worked nights at a private storage facility outside Newark. One evening he came home sick. He said a man there had given him medicine for his headache. He said it smelled strange.”
Emma lifted her head.
“Daddy’s sleepy medicine.”
Sophia shut her eyes.
“He went to bed and never woke up.”
Alessandro felt the air leave his lungs.
“What facility?”
Sophia hesitated.
“Duca Logistics.”
No one spoke.
The name hung there like a blade.
Alessandro’s company.
His warehouses.
His security.
His family.
“When?” he asked.
“Eight months ago.”
Alessandro’s mind moved quickly through dates, shipments, board meetings, internal audits.
Eight months ago, Duca Logistics had reported a fire in Warehouse 12. No injuries. Minor loss. Closed insurance claim.
He remembered signing the paperwork.
He remembered Raffaele telling him not to waste time reviewing it.
A coincidence.
Maybe.
But Alessandro had stopped believing in coincidences the day his father died.
“Why did you never tell anyone?” he asked.
Sophia’s eyes flashed with something sharper than fear.
“Tell who? Your company lawyer? The police officer who said my husband had no injuries? The doctor who barely looked at him? I was a widow with a toddler and no money. Then two weeks later, I was offered this housekeeping job.”
Alessandro went still.
“Who offered it?”
Sophia looked toward the family wing.
“Your aunt.”
Matteo lowered his head as though struck.
Alessandro turned slowly.
Aunt Beatrice.
The woman who kissed his cheek every Christmas.
The woman who told reporters the Duca family survived because blood protected blood.
The woman who had personally asked him to hire Sophia Alvarez because, as she said, “the poor thing needs mercy.”
Mercy.
Or control.
A knock sounded at the kitchen door.
Everyone jumped.
Matteo moved toward it, checked the camera panel, then unlocked the door.
Dr. Evelyn Royce entered carrying a black medical case. She was in her fifties, sharp-eyed, elegant, and one of the few people who spoke to Alessandro without fear.
“I was told not to ask questions until I arrived,” she said.
Alessandro pointed at the coffee.
“Test it.”
Dr. Royce’s expression changed.
She placed the case on the counter, snapped on gloves, and approached the cup.
No one moved while she opened sterile tubes and drew samples from the espresso.
Sophia hugged Emma closer.
Victor sweated through his chef’s jacket.
Minutes passed like hours.
Dr. Royce used a small field strip first.
Then another.
Then she stopped.
Her face did not panic.
That made it worse.
“Alessandro,” she said quietly. “Step into the hall.”
“No. Say it here.”
Her eyes flicked to Emma.
Sophia covered the child’s ears.
Dr. Royce lowered her voice.
“There is something in the coffee that should never be there. I cannot identify the full compound without a lab, but this strip reacted to a class of cardiac and sedative agents.”
A maid sobbed.
Victor backed into the stove.
Alessandro stared at the cup.
“How long?” he asked.
Dr. Royce understood.
“If you had drunk all of it? Minutes before symptoms. Maybe less. Depending on the dose, you could have collapsed before leaving this room.”
Sophia’s hand flew to her mouth.
Emma pulled her mother’s sleeve.
“Mommy, is the coffee bad?”
Sophia could not answer.
Alessandro could.
“Yes,” he said gently. “Very bad. And you saved my life.”
Emma stared at him.
Then she whispered, “Like I tried to save Daddy?”
Sophia broke.
A sound escaped her that made even Matteo look away.
Alessandro stepped toward the child, but stopped before he frightened her.
“You did save someone today,” he said. “And now I’m going to find out who hurt your father.”
Another knock hit the door.
This time it was louder.
Harder.
A woman’s voice called from the hallway.
“Alessandro? Why is the kitchen locked?”
Everyone recognized that voice.
Beatrice Duca.
And when Matteo checked the camera, he saw her standing outside with perfect hair, a pearl necklace…
May you like
And bright red nails resting against the door.
