Chapter 1 - The Maid Who Wasn't Supposed to Speak
The twelfth doctor had just declared Matteo Costa a dying man when the twenty-four-year-old maid noticed something none of them had bothered to investigate.
It wasn't in his bloodwork.
It wasn't on the expensive monitors surrounding his bed.
It was in the porcelain teacup resting beside his trembling hand.
And the man who had brought him that tea was standing three feet away, smiling.
"How long?" Enzo demanded.
Dr. Samuel Keller removed his glasses.
"Without improvement? Perhaps forty-eight hours."
The room fell silent.
Outside, rain hammered against the windows of the Costa estate. Inside, machines worth more than Nia Lewis would earn in a lifetime continued their relentless beeping.
Matteo Costa lay in the center of an enormous bed.
At thirty-eight, he had survived three assassination attempts, a federal investigation, and a decade of bloody rivalries. Men twice his age lowered their eyes when he entered a room.
Now he could barely lift his head.
His tattooed arms rested on white silk sheets. Medical electrodes covered his chest. His once-powerful body had grown frighteningly thin.
"Forty-eight hours?" Enzo repeated.
Keller swallowed.
"We've exhausted the conventional diagnostic possibilities. His cardiac function is deteriorating, and we're still investigating the cause."
Enzo stepped closer.
"Then investigate faster."
"Enzo."
Matteo's voice was barely audible.
His second-in-command immediately turned.
"Boss?"
"Stop threatening the man."
Keller gathered his files and hurried away.
Nia kept her eyes on the floor.
That was the first rule of working inside the Costa estate.
Don't stare.
Don't ask questions.
And never involve yourself in family business.
She had been employed for six weeks, long enough to learn that silence paid better than curiosity.
She needed every dollar.
Her mother had died the previous winter, leaving medical bills that arrived faster than Nia could open them. Her grandmother's little house in Oregon was facing foreclosure.
The mansion's housekeeping salary was the only thing standing between Nia and losing everything.
So she cleaned.
She polished the marble.
She changed sheets stained with sweat.
And she pretended not to hear conversations that could get her killed.
"Everything looks yellow," Matteo muttered suddenly.
Enzo approached the bed.
"What?"
"The lights. The curtains. Even your ridiculous suit."
"My suit is black."
"Then why does it look yellow?"
Nia stopped folding a towel.
Yellow.
Her stomach tightened.
Matteo closed his eyes.
"Turn off that lamp. There's a yellow ring around it."
"The lamp's already off," Enzo said quietly.
Nia stared at the patient's face.
She had heard him complain about those strange colors twice before.
The doctors had attributed his vision problems to his overall illness.
But Nia remembered something else.
A greenhouse.
Purple flowers.
Her grandmother's stern voice.
Pretty things can be dangerous, baby. Never assume a plant is harmless because it looks like a church bell.
Nia slowly returned to her work.
She was probably imagining things.
Twelve doctors couldn't all be wrong.
Could they?
The bedroom doors opened.
Carlo Costa entered carrying a silver tray.
Matteo's cousin was forty-one, impeccably dressed, and responsible for managing the Costa family's legitimate businesses.
Unlike Enzo, Carlo never raised his voice.
He didn't need to.
He smiled as though everyone in the world was his favorite person.
"How's our patient?"
"Terrible," Matteo muttered.
Carlo placed the tray on the bedside table.
"I brought your special tea."
"Not again."
"It settles your stomach."
"It tastes like someone boiled a lawn."
Carlo chuckled.
"Then drink it for me."
He poured the liquid into an expensive white cup and stirred in honey.
Nia bent to collect her cleaning bucket.
Then the smell reached her.
Ginger.
Mint.
Something earthy beneath them.
Something she hadn't smelled since her grandmother died.
Her hands went cold.
Carlo lifted the cup.
"Come on, Matty."
Matteo struggled to sit upright.
Enzo moved to help him.
And Nia suddenly heard herself speak.
"Don't drink that."
Every man in the room turned.
The silence was immediate.
Enzo stared at her.
"What did you say?"
Nia's heart pounded.
She looked at the cup.
Then at Matteo.
"Please, sir. Don't drink it."
Carlo's pleasant expression disappeared.
"Excuse me?"
Nia swallowed.
"I think there's something wrong with the tea."
Enzo took one step toward her.
"Who gave you permission to speak?"
Matteo raised a trembling hand.
"Wait."
His dark eyes settled on Nia.
"What is your name?"
"Nia Lewis, sir."
"And what exactly is wrong with my tea, Miss Lewis?"
She looked toward Carlo.
His eyes were suddenly terrifying.
"I don't know for certain," she whispered.
Carlo laughed.
"There you have it. A maid with an imagination."
He lifted the cup again.
"Let's stop wasting time."
Nia stepped forward.
"Sir, please!"
Enzo caught her arm.
"That's enough."
She could feel Carlo watching her.
Then Matteo spoke.
"Put the cup down."
Carlo froze.
"Matty—"
"I said put it down."
Slowly, Carlo returned the cup to its saucer.
Matteo looked at Nia.
"You have ten seconds to explain yourself."
Nia's mouth went dry.
"The yellow vision. Your stomach. Your heartbeat."
She took a shaky breath.
"My grandmother grew foxglove in a locked greenhouse. She taught me about the danger of its cardiac compounds."
Dr. Keller, who had returned to retrieve a forgotten folder, stopped in the doorway.
Nia turned toward him.
"Have you specifically investigated digitalis-related poisoning?"
Keller's face changed.
For the first time that afternoon, he didn't look annoyed.
He looked alarmed.
"Why would you ask that?"
Nia pointed toward the cup.
"Because I recognize the smell of that particular herbal mixture. I think someone may have put something dangerous in his tea."
Carlo slammed his palm against the table.
"This is absurd!"
The sudden noise made Nia flinch.
But Keller was already reaching for his phone.
"Nobody touches the tea," he ordered.
Enzo slowly turned toward Carlo.
"Who prepared it?"
Carlo stared at him.
Then smiled.
"You're not seriously questioning me because of a cleaning girl?"
Matteo looked at the teacup.
His breathing became shallow.
"Enzo."
"Yes, boss?"
"Lock the doors."
Carlo's smile vanished.
May you like
And Nia realized she had just accused the most dangerous man's cousin of attempted murder.
In a house where witnesses had a habit of disappearing.
