Chapter 8 - The Price of the NecklaceHattie could not breathe.
Isabella lay across the back seat with her head in Hattie’s lap.
Her skin had become clammy.
Her heartbeat irregular.
Alessandro sat opposite them.
“What did he give her?”
Hattie shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“I am thinking.”
Marco drove while talking to emergency physicians through a secure line.
Symptoms were relayed.
Possible toxins discussed.
Nothing matched perfectly.
Hattie remembered the vapor.
Sweet.
Almost fruity.
But there had also been something metallic.
Then she noticed Isabella’s pupils.
Tiny.
Her breathing shallow.
“Organophosphate?”
The physician on speaker asked, “Why?”
“Pinpoint pupils. Secretions. Bradycardia.”
“Was she near pesticides?”
“No.”
Hattie’s mind raced.
Then she remembered Lorraine.
Her sister had once worked in emergency medicine.
Years earlier she had taught Hattie basic poisoning symptoms after Hattie accidentally mixed cleaning products.
“Could be a nerve agent derivative,” the doctor said.
Alessandro went cold.
“Treatment?”
“Atropine. Pralidoxime depending on exposure.”
“We’re twelve minutes out.”
Isabella’s pulse slowed further.
Hattie slapped her cheek gently.
“Bella.”
Nothing.
“Stay with me.”
Alessandro’s voice cracked.
“Isabella.”
No response.
Hattie began rescue breathing when Isabella’s chest stopped moving properly.
Every second stretched.
The hospital team met them outside.
Doctors pushed medications.
A breathing tube was inserted.
Alessandro was physically stopped from following.
The doors closed.
He stood there covered in soot, staring through glass.
Hattie’s hands shook.
He turned to her.
“You figured it out.”
“I guessed.”
“You were right.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
A doctor emerged fifteen minutes later.
“You were correct about cholinergic poisoning.”
Alessandro closed his eyes.
“She’s responding to atropine.”
“Will she live?”
“We’re cautiously optimistic.”
Hattie sat.
Her knees no longer held her.
Alessandro dropped into the chair beside her.
For a while neither spoke.
Then he said, “You saved her again.”
Hattie stared at her hands.
“She shouldn’t need saving this often.”
“No.”
His voice turned dark.
“She shouldn’t.”
Police and federal agents swarmed the hospital.
The evidence Alessandro had sent earlier changed everything.
Warrants were issued for Vincent Ventresca and Elias Vane.
The safe house attack ensured every law-enforcement agency in the state suddenly cared.
But Vincent vanished again.
Vane disappeared too.
Isabella spent thirty-six hours in intensive care.
When she finally woke, Hattie was asleep in a chair beside her.
Alessandro sat by the window.
Isabella opened her eyes.
“Dad?”
He stood immediately.
“I’m here.”
Her voice was weak.
“Hattie?”
“She’s here too.”
Hattie woke.
Isabella managed a tiny smile.
“You look terrible.”
Hattie stared at her.
“You nearly die twice and wake up insulting me?”
“It’s tradition.”
Hattie laughed through tears.
Alessandro bent and kissed Isabella’s forehead.
She looked at him strangely.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“You haven’t done that since I was sixteen.”
His face changed.
“I should have.”
Isabella’s eyes filled.
“I made it hard.”
“I let you.”
Hattie looked away, giving them privacy.
But Isabella reached for her hand.
“No. Stay.”
So Hattie stayed.
Three days later, Isabella received an unexpected visitor.
Margaret Doyle.
The former maid walked into the room holding flowers.
Isabella looked stunned.
“You came.”
Margaret placed the flowers down.
“I heard what happened.”
Isabella swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
“I heard your voicemail.”
“I meant it.”
“I know.”
Margaret sat.
“You hurt me.”
Isabella nodded.
“I know.”
“My grandchildren heard people calling me a thief because rumors from this house followed me.”
Isabella’s eyes filled.
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t care enough to know.”
That hurt more.
Hattie watched Isabella accept it.
No excuses.
No defense.
“You’re right.”
Margaret studied her.
Then she said, “Your mother once apologized to me.”
Isabella blinked.
“You knew her?”
“I worked a Christmas party here fifteen years ago.”
Margaret smiled faintly.
“I dropped an entire tray of champagne. Your mother slipped in it and landed on the floor.”
Isabella laughed weakly.
“What did she do?”
“She laughed until she cried.”
Margaret’s eyes softened.
“She helped me clean it up.”
Isabella began crying.
“I don’t remember how to be like her.”
Margaret reached across the bed.
“Don’t be like her.”
Isabella looked confused.
“Be better than you were yesterday.”
It became the sentence Isabella carried with her.
Be better than you were yesterday.
Meanwhile, Marco discovered something terrifying.
Vincent had accessed an old Ventresca emergency account.
The transaction occurred near Lake George.
Alessandro studied the location.
“There’s a cabin there.”
Marco nodded.
“Your father’s old hunting lodge.”
Alessandro understood instantly.
Vincent had gone somewhere he believed Alessandro would hesitate to attack.
A place filled with memories.
A place built before modern security.
Marco asked, “What do you want to do?”
Alessandro loaded a magazine into his pistol.
“Finish it.”
Hattie entered.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“No?”
“You’re walking into a trap.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t.”
“He tried to kill my daughter.”
“And if he kills you too?”
Alessandro stared at her.
Hattie’s voice softened.
“What happens to Isabella then?”
He had no answer.
She stepped closer.
“You keep thinking protecting people means standing in front of bullets.”
“That’s usually useful.”
“Sometimes protecting someone means coming home.”
Their eyes held.
Something passed between them that neither was ready to name.
Alessandro put the weapon down.
“We’ll involve the federal team.”
Hattie exhaled.
“Good.”
He touched her cheek.
Only briefly.
But Isabella saw it from the hallway.
This time, she didn’t feel jealous.
She smiled.
Then Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face drained of color.
“Alessandro.”
“What?”
Marco turned the speaker on.
A video appeared.
Lorraine Monroe was tied to a chair.
Vincent stood behind her.
And Dr. Vane held a syringe against her neck.
Vincent looked into the camera.
“Bring Isabella’s necklace.”
May you like
He smiled.
“Or the maid loses her sister.”
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