Chapter 6 - The Blood Cleansing
The storm outside raged on, but inside the Castellano estate, a different kind of tempest was being unleashed.
Dr. Aris had been moved to the basement, tied to a heavy steel pillar directly opposite Mateo. The neurotoxin he had spent three years synthesizing was already taking hold. His legs had gone limber; his voice had dissolved into a series of wet, pathetic croaks as his throat muscles paralyzed. He was experiencing the exact, terrifying cage he had built for four innocent children.
In the master study, Roman sat behind his heavy desk. Elena stood beside him, reviewing a thick stack of medical protocols she had printed from her university database.
Beatrice sat in a leather armchair across from them. She looked completely out of place in the opulent room, her thick hands resting on her starched grey apron, but neither Roman nor Elena treated her as a servant anymore. She was the strategist.
"The thallium has a long half-life," Elena explained, pointing to a diagram of human kidneys. "It binds to potassium channels in the cells. That’s why their bodies couldn't clear it. We need a chelating agent. Specifically, Prussian Blue."
"Prussian Blue?" Roman asked. "The dye?"
"In pharmaceutical form, yes," Elena nodded. "It acts like a magnet for heavy metals in the digestive tract and bloodstream. It binds to the thallium and pulls it out through the stool. Combined with plasma exchange therapy and intensive physical therapy, we can flush their systems in six weeks."
"Can we get it?" Roman demanded.
"It's heavily regulated," Elena said grimly. "State police medical supplies have it, but acquiring enough for four children without raising red flags with the FDA will take days."
"We don't have days," Beatrice spoke up, her thick voice cutting through the technical jargon. "The babies are weak. Every hour that poison stays in 'em, another nerve dies."
Roman stood up, reaching for his coat. "Where is the nearest major stockpile of this drug?"
"Metropolitan General Hospital in Manhattan," Elena said. "They keep a disaster stockpile in their vault. But it's locked down. Security is tight, and the Moretti family controls the hospital's board of directors."
Roman smiled—a sharp, terrifying smile that showed all his teeth. "The Morettis think they played me. They think I'm sitting in this house weeping over four dying kids. They don't know I know."
He looked at Beatrice. "Stay with the children. Don't let anyone near them except my sister. Elena, set up the dialysis machines in the nursery. I'm going to New York."
"Roman, wait," Beatrice said, standing up. "You go storming into a hospital with guns blazing, the Morettis will know the game is up. They'll launch an all-out war before you get the medicine back here."
"I'm not going with guns, Beatrice," Roman said, pulling a sleek black USB drive from his desk drawer. "I'm going with Mateo's ledger. The Morettis have three congressmen and the Chief of Police on their payroll. If this ledger hits the federal prosecutor's desk, their entire empire collapses by midnight."
Two hours later, Roman was sitting in a darkened executive office on the top floor of Metropolitan General Hospital.
Across from him sat Don Carmine Moretti—an eighty-year-old man in a bespoke three-piece suit, oxygen tubes in his nose, holding a glass of warm milk.
"You look terrible, Roman," Carmine rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves blowing across pavement. "I heard your children are at death's door. Sad. Very sad. Family is everything."
Roman didn't sit down. He set the USB drive on the mahogany desk, sliding it across to the old man.
"What's this?" Carmine asked, squinting.
"That's Mateo's private ledger," Roman said flatly. "It details fifteen years of illegal medical trials, organ trafficking, and bribery conducted by your family through this hospital's oncology department. It includes the bank account numbers in Panama."
Carmine’s hand froze over his glass of milk. The polite, grandfatherly facade evaporated, revealing the ruthless shark underneath. "You dare threaten me in my own building?"
"I don't threaten, Carmine," Roman leaned over the desk, his dark eyes burning into the old man's soul. "I execute. In fifteen minutes, my sister hits 'send' on a broadcast email to the FBI, the DEA, and the New York Times. The only thing that stops her is ten thousand doses of pharmaceutical Prussian Blue and four industrial plasma exchange units loaded into my trucks in the basement."
Carmine stared at Roman, searching the younger man's face for a hint of bluffing. He found none. He saw only a father who had walked through hell and brought back the fire.
Carmine slowly reached for his desk phone, pressed a speed-dial button, and spoke into the receiver. "Pharmacy vault. This is Don Carmine. Clear the floor. Give Mr. Castellano whatever he wants."
Roman took the USB drive back off the desk, tucking it into his pocket. "A wise choice, Carmine. Oh, and one more thing."
May you like
Carmine looked up, his breathing shallow. "What?"
"Dr. Aris and Mateo send their regards," Roman said quietly. "They're currently residing in my basement. If you ever come within ten miles of my family again, I won't send a ledger. I'll send my cleaning lady with her frying pan."
