Chapter 2 - Antidote at Midnight and a Cousin Under Guard

The antidote arrived under police-style escort without police.

A black SUV crossed the estate gates at nearly eighty miles an hour, followed by one of Enzo’s cars. A hospital pharmacist stepped out carrying a chilled case as though it contained a heart rather than medicine.

Inside the master suite, Dr. Keller worked with the concentration of a man trying to erase his own previous certainty.

Nia stood against the far wall.

Nobody had told her to stay.

Nobody had allowed her to leave.

Carlo sat in an armchair near the window with a guard behind him. He had stopped protesting. That frightened Nia more than his anger.

Men like Carlo, she thought, became quiet when they were building a new story.

Keller reconstituted the digoxin immune Fab and checked Matteo’s rhythm again.

“His potassium is climbing,” he said. “That can happen in severe toxicity. We treat now.”

Enzo hovered beside the bed.

“What happens next?”

“If we’re right, the antibodies bind the toxin. The rhythm may improve within hours. Kidney function could take longer. There are no guarantees.”

“You said there were no guarantees before.”

Keller did not look up. “Yes.”

The infusion began.

For the next hour, the room existed in the narrow space between one heartbeat and the next.

Thirty-five became thirty-eight.

Then forty-two.

Matteo’s rhythm remained unstable, but the long pauses between beats shortened.

At forty-six, the nurse exhaled for the first time.

At fifty-one, Keller sat down.

Enzo did not.

Nia watched Carlo.

His eyes were on the monitor.

Not on Matteo.

On the number.

That distinction mattered.

“You’re disappointed,” Nia said.

Carlo turned his head.

The guard behind him looked at Nia as if she had just kicked a hornet’s nest.

Carlo smiled faintly. “You think you understand people because you recognize a plant.”

“No. I think you’ve been staring at the heart rate like it owes you money.”

Enzo’s mouth twitched.

Carlo leaned back. “Careful.”

“I’ve spent a week being careful.”

The words surprised Nia as much as anyone.

Matteo stirred.

Keller stepped toward him. “Mr. Costa?”

Matteo opened his eyes.

The terrible yellow cast was still in his vision, but he could focus enough to find Carlo across the room.

“Where,” Matteo whispered, “did you buy the tea?”

Carlo’s reply came immediately. “Bellweather Botanicals. Downtown. I can show receipts.”

“Do that.”

“I will.”

Matteo looked toward Enzo. “No one hurts him.”

Enzo frowned.

“Not yet,” Matteo added.

Carlo gave a humorless laugh. “How generous.”

Matteo’s gaze hardened. Even half-dead, he could still silence the room.

“I want to know whether my cousin is a murderer,” he said. “Not whether Enzo can make one disappear.”

Enzo looked offended but said nothing.

Nia understood then that Matteo’s survival had created a new problem.

If he had died, everyone would have blamed disease or an invisible enemy. Now that the poison had a name, every cup of tea, every nurse, every supplier, every person with access to the third floor had become evidence.

And evidence could point in more than one direction.

Enzo ordered the silver canister sealed inside a clean evidence bag. Keller took samples of the tea, honey, and remaining dry blend. The cup Carlo had brought that evening went into a separate container.

“I want independent testing,” Matteo said.

Keller nodded. “Two laboratories.”

“Three.”

“Three.”

Carlo sighed. “You’ll find contamination. Then perhaps everyone can stop pretending I cultivated poison in my basement.”

Nia looked at him.

“You knew I opened the canister yesterday.”

Carlo’s face went still.

Enzo turned.

Nia continued. “You caught me. Tonight his heart rate crashed worse than before.”

Keller looked at the fresh cup.

“Higher concentration?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.”

Carlo stood abruptly.

The guard’s hand touched his shoulder.

“Sit.”

Carlo’s face flushed. “This is insanity. I brought him the same tea I always bring him.”

“Which is not the defense you think it is,” Nia said.

Enzo almost smiled.

Matteo closed his eyes.

“Take him downstairs.”

Carlo stared at him. “Matty.”

“Guest room. Two guards. No phone.”

“You cannot imprison me in my own family’s house.”

Matteo opened his eyes again. “Apparently I can.”

The guards escorted Carlo out.

The moment the door closed, Matteo’s strength seemed to leave with him.

He turned his head toward Nia.

“Why didn’t you say something when you first suspected it?”

The question hurt because she had already asked herself a hundred times.

“I was scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of all of you.”

Enzo made a quiet sound.

Matteo ignored him.

“And now?”

Nia looked at the monitors, at the IV tubing, at the cup sealed in plastic.

“I’m still scared.”

“Good,” Matteo said. “Fear keeps intelligent people alive.”

He closed his eyes.

Then added, “Bring me the woman’s journal.”

Nia stiffened.

“My grandmother’s?”

“You said you confirmed it there.”

“It’s at my apartment.”

Enzo was already reaching for his phone.

Nia stepped forward. “No. I’ll get it.”

“You’re not going anywhere alone,” Enzo said.

“My apartment is not part of your estate.”

“It is if someone knows you just ruined a murder.”

The sentence settled heavily over the room.

Nia thought of Carlo’s final look.

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You have no idea what you’ve just done.

For the first time, she believed him completely.