Chapter 5 - The Wrong Bottle
Lorenzo dropped to his knees.
“Bella.”
Isabella’s eyes fluttered.
No response.
The nurse pushed him back.
“I need space.”
Emma cried from the corner.
I grabbed her.
“What happened?”
She pointed toward the bottle.
“Pink lady gave it.”
My blood went cold.
“Who?”
“Pink lady.”
Vivien was wearing black that morning.
Not pink.
The nurse checked Isabella’s pulse.
“Call the ambulance.”
Lorenzo already had his phone out.
The estate emergency vehicle could reach the private hospital faster than county EMS.
Within four minutes, Isabella was being carried downstairs.
Lorenzo went with her.
Before leaving, he grabbed my arm.
“Stay with Emma.”
“I will.”
His face was raw.
“Don’t let anyone near her.”
“I won’t.”
Then he was gone.
Vincent picked up the bottle using gloves.
He read the label.
His expression darkened.
“This isn’t from this house.”
“What is it?”
“A cardiac drug.”
“Whose?”
“Different patient.”
Emma buried her face against me.
“Pink lady said candy.”
I crouched.
“Emma, look at Mommy.”
She looked at me.
“What pink lady?”
“The picture lady.”
“What picture?”
She pointed toward the hallway.
“There.”
A framed photograph hung on the wall.
A charity gala.
Lorenzo.
Elena.
Vincent.
Another man.
And a woman in a pale-pink dress.
Vincent followed Emma’s finger.
His entire face changed.
“No.”
“Who is she?”
He stared.
“Victor’s wife.”
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
A chill went through me.
Emma shook her head.
“No. She gave Bella medicine.”
Vincent crouched.
“Sweetheart, are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“What did she look like?”
Emma pointed again.
“Her.”
Vincent stood.
“That’s impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
He looked at me.
“Victor’s wife, Camille, died six years ago.”
“How?”
“Overdose.”
“Was there a body?”
“Yes.”
“You saw it?”
“No.”
“Did Lorenzo?”
“No.”
“Then stop calling it impossible.”
Vincent went silent.
We checked the house.
Vivien was still locked inside the guest suite.
Two guards confirmed she had never left.
The hallway cameras showed a woman entering through the service corridor at 8:11.
Pink coat.
Blonde wig.
Sunglasses.
She knew where the blind spots were.
She walked directly to Isabella’s room.
Four minutes later she left.
Nobody stopped her because she carried a private nursing badge.
The badge was fake.
The face was partially visible.
Vincent stared at the screen.
“Camille.”
“So she isn’t dead.”
“No.”
He looked sick.
“Which means Victor faked her death.”
“Why?”
“To get her away from us.”
“Why would he need to?”
Vincent sat down.
“Because Camille knew too much.”
The explanation came in pieces.
Years earlier, Victor Russo had managed off-book financial operations for the Duca organization.
He became greedy.
Then reckless.
He sold information to rivals.
When Lorenzo discovered it, he ordered Victor out of New York.
Victor blamed Elena.
He believed she had convinced Lorenzo to cut him off.
Months later, Elena died.
Officially an accident.
Lorenzo had always suspected otherwise.
No proof existed.
Vincent had spent years convincing him to let it go.
Now Camille was alive.
And Isabella had been poisoned.
“Vivien is working with them,” I said.
Vincent nodded.
“She must be.”
“What does she want?”
“Money.”
“Only money?”
His expression said no.
“Lorenzo’s trust.”
I remembered Vivien asking questions about Isabella’s inheritance.
“If something happens to Isabella—”
Vincent’s eyes closed.
“If Isabella dies before Lorenzo remarries, control of several family assets reverts directly to Lorenzo. If he marries and restructures the trust afterward, a spouse may gain rights depending on how it’s written.”
“So Vivien needed him to marry her.”
“Yes.”
“And Emma?”
“A scapegoat.”
The pieces connected.
Emma’s backpack.
The stolen medication.
My employee account.
Vivien needed a believable thief.
A mother who could not afford medicine.
A sick child.
If Isabella’s doses later became unstable, suspicion would already point toward us.
“They were building a story.”
Vincent nodded.
“A story where you were stealing medicine and tampering with Isabella’s care.”
“And if Isabella died?”
He did not answer.
He did not have to.
I would become the easiest person to blame.
By noon, Lorenzo called from the hospital.
Isabella was stable.
The drug had caused a dangerous rhythm change, but the nurse had recognized it quickly.
Lorenzo’s voice shook when he told me.
I had never heard that from him.
“I’m coming back.”
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“Stay at the hospital.”
“I need to deal with this.”
“Your daughter needs you more.”
Silence.
Then he said quietly, “You’re right.”
He stayed.
That evening, Isabella asked to speak to Emma on video.
The girls talked for six minutes.
Mostly about a stuffed rabbit.
When the call ended, Emma touched the screen.
“Bella sick?”
“Yes.”
“Bella come home?”
“Yes.”
I prayed I was telling the truth.
Vincent stood in the doorway.
“We found Camille.”
“Where?”
“Security camera at a ferry terminal.”
“Going where?”
“Connecticut.”
“Victor?”
“No sign.”
“Vivien?”
“Still denying everything.”
I looked toward the guest wing.
“Let me talk to her.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she threatened your child.”
“Exactly.”
“Sophia.”
“She thinks I’m weak.”
Vincent studied me.
“She doesn’t.”
“Then she thinks I’m scared.”
“You are.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“And scared people sometimes listen better.”
He eventually agreed.
Two guards remained outside the room.
Vivien sat by the window.
She looked tired.
Not broken.
Not guilty.
Just irritated.
“You wanted to see me?”
I closed the door behind me.
“You tried to frame Emma.”
“No.”
“Camille poisoned Isabella.”
That got a reaction.
Tiny.
But real.
“You know Camille.”
“I know the name.”
“Vincent said she was dead.”
“Vincent believes many convenient things.”
“You planted the medicine.”
“No.”
“We recovered footage.”
Her mouth tightened.
“You recovered eleven seconds.”
“So you know how much.”
She realized the mistake immediately.
I smiled without humor.
“Thank you.”
Vivien stood.
“You think you’re clever.”
“No.”
“You think Lorenzo is protecting you because he cares about you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“He does this.”
“Does what?”
“Finds damaged things and decides saving them makes him noble.”
I stepped closer.
“My daughter is not damaged.”
“I meant you.”
I laughed.
For the first time, Vivien’s composure slipped.
“You have no idea what you walked into.”
“Then explain it.”
“You think this is about a few bottles?”
“It’s about Isabella.”
“No.”
She smiled.
“It’s about Lorenzo.”
I waited.
“Victor wants what Lorenzo took.”
“Money?”
“His name.”
“That means nothing.”
“In their world, it means everything.”
“So you were going to help him?”
Vivien’s eyes became cold.
“I was going to survive.”
“By hurting two children?”
“You are naïve.”
“No.”
I moved toward the door.
“I’m just done listening.”
Vivien spoke before I reached it.
“Ask Lorenzo what happened to Elena’s car.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Ask him why the brake report disappeared.”
I turned.
Vivien smiled.
“And ask Vincent who signed the evidence release.”
My hand remained on the knob.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying your precious Vincent knows exactly why Camille was supposed to be dead.”
The door opened behind me.
May you like
Vincent stood there.
His face had gone completely white.
