Chapter 2 - The Poisoned Legacy
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of sterile white rooms and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. Dante had moved Clara and Lili into his private medical wing at his estate, miles away from the prying eyes of the city and the reach of Valeria Graves.
When Clara finally opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the high, vaulted ceiling of a room she didn't recognize. The second thing she saw was Dante Moretti, sitting in a chair by the window, his silhouette dark against the sunrise.
He wasn't wearing his suit jacket. His tie was undone, his sleeves rolled up, revealing the tattoo of a serpent coiled around his forearm—a mark of the Moretti lineage.
"You're awake," he said. His voice was rough, unaccustomed to such tenderness.
Clara tried to sit up, her body protesting. "Mr. Moretti? Where... where is Lili?"
"She’s safe. She’s asleep in the suite next door. She’s been asking for you." Dante stood and walked to the bedside, his eyes searching hers. "Clara, I need you to look at me."
She looked up at him, her eyes clouded with confusion. "I didn't steal it. I found it in the archives. I didn't know what to do."
"I know," Dante said, pulling the toxicological report from his pocket. He placed it on the bed. "I read it. I know what this is. I know about the medication Isabella was given the night she died. I know it wasn't a heart attack."
Clara’s hand trembled as she touched the paper. "Your mother... she wasn't sick, Dante. She was being slowly poisoned. I worked in the archives at the clinic before the scandal. I saw the logs. Someone was altering her prescriptions. When I realized it was someone linked to the Graves family, I couldn't let it go."
Dante’s face hardened, the look of a man contemplating a war he had been avoiding for years. "Valeria’s father. He was my father’s business partner. They were supposed to be family."
"Valeria knew," Clara whispered. "She found me in the archive that day. She threatened to hurt Lili if I didn't stop looking. She’s the one who planted the file in my desk. She needed to get rid of me before I could bring it to you."
Dante leaned over the bed, his presence overwhelming. "She tried to destroy you. She almost succeeded."
"Why didn't you fire me?" Clara asked, a spark of defiance lighting her eyes.
May you like
Dante reached out, his hand hovering over her hair but not quite touching her. "Because, Clara, I have spent seven years looking at a ghost in a photograph, waiting for justice. And I didn't realize the person who was going to give it to me was standing in my office every morning, pouring my coffee, doing my work, and carrying the burden of my past."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense rumble. "I am not going to fire you, Clara Hayes. I am going to make them pay for every tear you’ve shed."
