Chapter 3 - The Slow Poison
By the second week of November, the weather over Lake Michigan had turned vicious. Black storm clouds rolled across the horizon, dropping the temperature below freezing and coating the estate’s wrought-iron gates in a thick layer of rime ice.
Inside the mansion, the atmosphere was equally frigid.
Vivienne sat at the opposite end of the mahogany dining table, her posture rigid, pushing a piece of roasted duck around her plate without eating. Dante sat at the head, his dark eyes fixed on her through the candlelight.
"Your father called today," Dante said, breaking the silence that hung over the room like a shroud.
Vivienne did not look up. "He calls every Tuesday to ensure his investment is secure."
"He asked about the shipping lines through Wisconsin."
"Tell him the snow has blocked the passes. It will give him something to complain about besides my lack of enthusiasm for your domestic arrangements."
Dante set his fork down with a sharp clink. "You have been in this house eighteen days, Vivienne. You do not speak to the staff. You do not leave the grounds. You look at my nephew as if he were a biological specimen. If you have an agenda from your father, spit it out now."
Vivienne finally raised her head. Her gray eyes were completely level, devoid of anger or defensiveness. They held the chilling clarity of an operating room before an incision.
"Your paranoia is impressive, Dante, but it lacks imagination," she said softly. "My father treats me like a piece of damaged merchandise. I am here because he traded me to secure a border route, and I had no legal or financial means to refuse him. I do not care about your shipping lines. I do not care about your syndicate wars. And I certainly do not care about your paranoia."
"Then why do you watch the child?" Dante demanded, leaning forward. "Clara says you stand over his crib for twenty minutes at a time, staring down at him without moving."
A faint, bitter smile touched the corner of Vivienne’s mouth.
"Clara has a very active imagination for a nanny," Vivienne replied. "Perhaps you should ask yourself why a woman who claims to love your nephew spends so much time monitoring my footsteps instead of tending to the boy."
"Clara is loyal," Dante snapped. "She stayed when my brother died. She has cared for Leo since he drew his first breath. Do not project your own coldness onto her."
"Loyalty bought with honeyed words is the cheapest commodity on the market," Vivienne said, standing up from the table and leaving her meal untouched. "Keep your guards at the gates, Dante. But keep your eyes open inside the walls."
May you like
She walked out of the dining room, her silk dress rustling softly against the floorboards.
Dante sat alone in the dim candlelight, the warning echoing in his ears. He wanted to dismiss it as jealousy—the bitter resentment of a disgraced doctor forced into a loveless marriage with a mob boss. But as he looked out across the dark estate, an unshakeable unease settled in his chest.
