Chapter 4 - The Viper's Nest
Tessa knew that trying to drive through the front gate was suicide.
She parked her sedan in a public beach lot two miles down the coast, transferred her medical supplies into a waterproof tactical backpack, and began the long, treacherous trek along the rocky coastline under the cover of the morning fog.
The sea spray stung her eyes, and the sharp coral cut through her canvas shoes, but she kept moving.
By 7:15 AM, she had successfully slipped back over the perimeter wall near the greenhouse. She used her master keycard—stolen from the housecleaning supervisor's office three weeks ago—to enter the estate through the subterranean wine cellar.
The house was buzzing with chaotic energy.
From the shadows of the secondary kitchen hallway, Tessa listened as servants whispered in panicked tones.
"They found a bottle of poison in her locker downstairs," one housemaid whispered.
"I always knew there was something weird about her," another replied. "She never talked to anyone. Dr. Lipton said she tried to tamper with Mr. Rossi’s IV line last night!"
Tessa pressed her back against the wall, her teeth gritted. They had framed her cleanly. Planting a bottle of poison in her staff locker was laughably simple for whoever was controlling the house.
She needed to reach Victor’s room, but the main elevator and central staircase were monitored by Dante’s men.
She used the laundry chute shaft—a narrow, vertical brick passage running from the basement to the third-floor linen closet. Clinging to the wooden framing and pulling herself up inch by grueling inch, her muscles screamed in protest.
When she finally pushed open the small wooden door of the third-floor linen closet, her hands were scraped bloody, but she was inside the restricted wing.
She cracked the door open.
The third-floor hallway was quiet, but two guards stood right outside Victor’s master bedroom.
Through the crack, she saw Dr. Harrison Lipton standing near the window, speaking in hush tones with Julian Rossi.
Julian was thirty-eight, handsome, polished, and dressed in a three-thousand-dollar Italian suit. Unlike Victor, who was rugged and intimidating, Julian was a politician—the public face of the Rossi enterprise who handled the legal real estate developments and political bribes.
"Is he still conscious?" Julian asked, checking his gold wristwatch.
"Barely," Dr. Lipton replied, polishing his glasses with a silk handkerchief. "The convulsions last night accelerated his heart failure. I’ve increased his sedative drip as you requested. He won't last another twenty-four hours."
"Good," Julian said smoothly, stepping closer to the doctor. "The board of directors meeting is scheduled for tomorrow at noon. Once Victor is declared legally deceased from natural neurological illness, the entire trust transfers to my control. The doctors will sign the death certificate?"
"Of course," Dr. Lipton assured him with a greasy smile. "Twenty of the finest specialists in the country have documented his 'degenerative motor neuron disease' for six months. No medical examiner in Florida will question it."
"And the maid?" Julian asked, his voice dropping into a cold, lethal register.
"Dante’s men are tracking her sedan," Julian’s guard chimed in. "Once they find her, she’ll be eliminated. We’ll make it look like she fled the state out of guilt."
Tessa’s breath hitched in her throat.
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It wasn't just a rogue staff member. It was a coordinated coup. Julian Rossi had bought off the lead neurologist, poisoned his own brother, and used twenty oblivious, high-priced medical specialists as an unwitting cover story.
And now, Victor had less than twenty-four hours to live.
