Chapter 6 - The Poisoned Well
The private VIP wing at Mass General was a world away from the chaotic, sterile ward Clara had been languishing in for months. By the time Elena returned to the Weston estate that evening, her sister was resting in a private suite overlooking the Charles River, her medical balance paid in full, with two of Julian’s silent, dark-suited sentries stationed outside her door.
For the first time in two years, Elena could breathe without the crushing weight of impending grief pressing against her chest.
But as she stepped into the grand foyer of the estate, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. The air smelled of cigar smoke and aged scotch. The sliding doors to the formal dining room were thrown wide open, revealing half a dozen syndicate captains gathered around Julian, their voices raised in a heated, guttural argument over territory and retaliation.
Elena kept her head down, moving quickly toward the south wing staircase to check on the twins.
"Rostova."
She froze on the second step. Marcus materialized from the shadow of the marble archway, a crystal glass of bourbon in his hand. He looked slightly disheveled, his silver tie loosened at the collar, but his eyes were sharp and predatory.
"Mr. Marchesi is occupied with the commission," Elena said coldly, continuing her ascent. "If you need something from the domestic staff, speak to Mrs. Gable."
Marcus moved with startling speed, blocking her path on the landing. He smelled of alcohol and bitter resentment. "You think you're untouchable now, don't you? Because you played the hero at the school alleyway and got a fat bonus check for your dying sister."
Elena’s blood ran cold. "How do you know about my sister?"
Marcus leaned in, his smile cold and synthetic. "I am the underboss of this organization, sweetie. I know every dollar that enters and leaves Julian’s accounts. I know that he just moved a nobody's sibling into a fifty-thousand-dollar medical suite while our street soldiers are taking bullets on the docks."
"That was Mr. Marchesi’s decision," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she backed up against the oak banister. "Not mine."
"Julian is grieving," Marcus hissed, his eyes narrowing into slits. "He's weak right now. He looks at you and sees a replacement for the wife he couldn't save. But let me give you a piece of advice, governess. The Barone family didn't just guess which exit Julian was taking at that academy today. Someone gave them the architectural blueprints of the school three days ago."
Elena stared at him, her pulse spiking. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Marcus murmured, taking a sip of his bourbon, "that when Julian realizes there's a rat inside his house, he's going to look at the people who recently gained access to his private schedule. The people who desperately needed a large sum of quick cash from an external source."
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The implication hit her like a physical blow. "You wouldn't dare frame me. Julian knows I saved his children!"
"Julian is a paranoid sociopath who built his empire by trusting no one," Marcus replied smoothly, stepping aside to let her pass. "We'll see how much he trusts you when I present the encrypted emails sent from your estate IP address to the Barone syndicate this morning. Sleep well, Elena."
