Chapter 3
I had been tired for six weeks.
Not normal tired.
Heavy.
Some mornings my hands felt strangely numb.
Twice I had become dizzy after dinner.
Once I nearly fell asleep during a meeting I had called myself.
I blamed work.
Then Clara told me Katherine said I was dying.
And Marcus refused to touch my wine.
Patterns are easy to see after someone forces you to look at them.
Salvatore called our private physician to the estate.
Dr. Nolan arrived through the west entrance twenty minutes later.
No sirens.
No police.
No questions outside the family.
That was how I wanted it.
He examined me in my study while Salvatore searched the dining gallery.
“You should have called sooner,” Nolan said.
“For fatigue?”
“For recurring numbness and dizziness.”
“I thought I was forty.”
“You are forty.”
“Exactly.”
He didn't smile.
That annoyed me.
“What?”
He lowered his voice.
“I can't tell you what caused this tonight.”
“I didn't ask for certainty.”
He looked at me.
“Then yes. Something could have been making you sick over time.”
I thought about every dinner.
Every glass placed at my right hand.
Every evening Katherine visited.
Every family meeting Marcus attended.
“How long would something like that take?”
“Depends what it is.”
“Could someone predict when I would die?”
“No.”
That mattered.
Because Katherine hadn't told Clara I might die.
She told her I was dying.
Someone believed the process had already begun.
The study door opened.
Salvatore entered carrying a folded white cloth.
Inside was a tiny glass vial.
Empty.
“Where?”
“Under the wine trolley.”
My jaw tightened.
“Fingerprints?”
Salvatore raised an eyebrow.
“You want paperwork now?”
Almost made me smile.
“No.”
He placed it on the desk.
“There's more.”
“What?”
“The cellar master is missing.”
That wiped away the almost-smile.
“Since when?”
“No one has seen Carlo since before dinner.”
Carlo had served my father.
Then me.
He knew my cellar better than anyone alive.
He was seventy-one and complained whenever anyone moved a bottle without asking.
He would not simply disappear on Christmas.
“Search the house.”
“Already happening.”
I looked through the study doors toward the gallery.
Katherine sat perfectly still.
Marcus didn't.
He kept looking toward the hallway.
Waiting.
For what?
Salvatore noticed.
“You want me to separate them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because frightened relatives talk to each other.”
I returned to the gallery.
Marcus immediately straightened.
Katherine stared at the fire.
I sat in my chair.
Clara's chair remained beside me.
Empty now.
I placed one hand on its back.
“You told her this seat wasn't hers anymore.”
Katherine looked up.
“It was a childish comment.”
“No.”
I looked at Marcus.
“You expected to sit here.”
His face hardened.
“You think I want your chair?”
“I think you already measured it.”
A few capos lowered their eyes.
Marcus stood.
“You've always thought everyone wanted what you had.”
“Not everyone.”
I looked at Katherine.
“Only the people who start telling my daughter I'm dying.”
The door opened.
One of my bodyguards entered.
“Boss.”
He glanced at Katherine.
Then Marcus.
“We found Carlo.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
The man hesitated.
“Locked inside the old linen room beneath the cellar.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
Katherine didn't.
That told me something too.
May you like
Marcus knew where Carlo had been.
Katherine knew why.
