Chapter 2 - The Ghost of Vane Manor
Marco’s hand remained frozen on the grip of his pistol. His eyes darted from the crying child resting her chin on Dante’s shoulder to the boss he had served for fifteen years.
“Sir?” Marco stammered, his voice dropping an octave. “She... she was hired six months ago through the domestic agency in Manhattan. Fake identity papers. She went by Clara Miller on the payroll.”
Dante’s jaw set so hard a muscle pulsed beneath his temple. “Find the medical team. If she dies before they reach the estate, I’ll personally bury everyone involved in her background check.”
“Yes, Boss!” Marco turned on his heel and shouted down the grand staircase, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered.
Dante carried Lily down the private staircase toward the staff quarters. The little girl clung to his linen shirt, her tiny fingers digging into the fabric. She felt impossibly light, like a autumn leaf caught in a draft.
When they reached the small room behind the industrial kitchen, two off-duty guards were already standing at the door, looking uncomfortable.
Dante pushed past them.
The room was tiny—barely large enough for a single twin bed, a small wardrobe, and a plastic chair. On the floor, crumpled beside the bed, lay Clara.
Her dark brown hair was spread across the linoleum floor. Her skin was a pale, waxy porcelain, her lips tinged faint blue.
Dante felt a cold spike through his chest—a feeling he hadn't experienced in four years. He stepped over the spilled pill bottle, handed Lily to Marco who had just re-entered, and knelt beside the unconscious woman.
He placed two long fingers against her neck.
Her pulse was there, but it was weak, erratic, fluttering like a trapped bird.
“Clara,” Dante murmured, his voice losing its iron edge for a fraction of a second. He reached out, his thumb brushing a strand of dark hair away from her damp forehead. “You stubborn fool.”
He looked at the bottle on the floor. It was a prescription beta-blocker—heart medication designed to slow high blood pressure.
The estate’s private physician, Dr. Harrison, burst into the room carrying two heavy silver medical cases, flanked by two paramedic officers.
“Move!” Harrison commanded, dropping to his knees opposite Dante. He immediately checked Clara’s pupils with a penlight and attached a portable EKG monitor to her chest. “Respiratory depression. Severe hypotension. What did she take?”
Dante kicked the bottle toward the doctor. “Propranolol. She was running on a weak heart.”
Harrison scanned the label quickly. “This isn't her prescription. It’s a high-dosage sedative mixture disguised in an old bottle. Someone spiked her medication.”
Dante stood up slowly. The air in the narrow room grew suffocatingly cold.
“Poison?” Dante asked softly.
“A digitalis toxicity compound, looks like,” Harrison said, already prepping an IV line with an atropine counter-agent. “If this child hadn't come to your door within ten minutes, her heart would have stopped entirely.”
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Dante turned to look at Lily, who was sitting silently on Marco’s arm, her big brown eyes staring at her mother’s limp form.
“Keep her alive, Harrison,” Dante said flatly. “Move her to my private medical wing upstairs. Nobody leaves this house. Lock down the gates.”
