Chapter 4 - The Trap
I spent the rest of the night sitting upright in my armchair, staring at the locked door of my bedroom, clutching my splinted arm against my chest. Every shadow seemed to move; every rustle of the wind against the windowpanes sounded like footsteps coming to silence me.
By 6:00 AM, the pale, gray light of dawn was filtering through the sheer curtains.
I couldn't go to the police. What proof did I have? The word of an orphaned, low-income caregiver against the daughter of a United States Senator? They would laugh me out of the precinct, or worse, Isabella’s father would have the report buried before the ink even dried.
And what about Luca?
He had defended me yesterday, yes, but this was the woman he was set to marry in six weeks. High society was built on alliances, reputations, and billion-dollar contracts. If I walked up to Luca Moretti and told him his fiancée was planning to chemically induce dementia in his mother to seize control of Moretti Enterprises, would he believe me without concrete evidence? Or would he think I was an envious employee trying to sabotage his life?
I needed proof. Hard, undeniable proof.
At 7:00 AM, I washed my face with freezing water, threw on my crisp navy scrubs, and walked up to Mrs. Moretti’s suite.
The morning routine was sacred. I always prepared her morning medication tray in her private sitting room, cross-referencing her chart with the prescriptions sent directly from the hospital pharmacy.
When I entered the room, Mrs. Moretti was already awake, sitting in her lace morning gown by the floor-to-ceiling windows, reading the morning paper.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she greeted me, lowering her reading glasses. Her eyes instantly dropped to my arm, now enclosed in the gray fiberglass splint. A soft sigh escaped her lips. “Look what that wretched girl did to you. Does it hurt terribly?”
“Much better today, Mrs. Moretti,” I said, forcing a cheerful smile as I set the stainless steel tray on the vanity. “Dr. Keller took excellent care of me.”
“Luca stayed with you the entire time, didn't he?” she asked, a knowing twinkle in her dark eyes.
“He... yes, he was very kind.”
“Luca is not kind,” the old woman stated bluntly, turning a page of her paper. “Luca is fair, he is protective, and he is ruthless. But he is rarely ‘kind’ to people outside his bloodline. Remember that, Emma.”
Before I could ponder what she meant by that, the double doors of the suite swung open without a knock.
Isabella walked in.
She was dressed impeccably in an emerald-green pantsuit, her hair blown out into cascading golden waves. She looked fresh, radiant, and utterly composed—as if she hadn't spent the early hours of the morning rifling through private safes and plotting medical sabotage.
Behind her walked a tall, stoic woman in white hospital scrubs, carrying a black medical kit.
“Good morning, Mother,” Isabella sang out, sweeping into the room with theatrical warmth. “I trust you slept well?”
Mrs. Moretti didn't even look up from her paper. “The morning was quite peaceful until five seconds ago.”
Isabella didn't miss a beat, though a tiny twitch near her temple betrayed her irritation. She turned her bright, predatory gaze on me.
“Emma! How is that poor wrist?” she cooed, her eyes dripping with false sympathy. “I felt simply dreadful after hearing about Dr. Keller’s diagnosis. Which is why I took the liberty of solving our little problem.”
She gestured toward the woman standing behind her.
“This is Nurse Vance—well, no relation, of course, just a serendipitous coincidence! Nurse Brenda Vance. She comes with the highest recommendations from the St. Jude Private Institute. Since Emma is clearly incapacitated and cannot fulfill her duties safely, Brenda will be taking over Mother’s direct medical administration starting this morning.”
My stomach plummeted into an icy abyss.
*“The substituted vials will be delivered by noon tomorrow.”*
The words from Isabella’s midnight phone call echoed in my ears. This wasn't just a replacement; this was the execution of her plan. Brenda wasn't here to help—she was the courier.
“That won't be necessary,” I spoke up, stepping between Brenda and the medication cabinet. My voice shook slightly, but I stood my ground. “Dr. Keller explicitly stated that I am capable of managing Mrs. Moretti’s oral medications. Mr. Moretti agreed that an agency nurse would only assist with physical mobility.”
Brenda stepped forward, her face cold and hardened. “With all due respect, Miss, a splinted hand is a violation of sanitary protocol when handling sterile injectables and oral narcotics. You cannot safely manipulate blister packs or measure liquid suspensions.”
“Emma has managed my medications for six months without an issue,” Mrs. Moretti snapped, finally folding her newspaper and dropping it onto the table with a sharp slap. “I did not authorize an agency nurse. Isabella, take this stranger out of my bedroom.”
“Mother, be reasonable!” Isabella’s voice turned pleading, playing the role of the devoted future daughter-in-law. “We have to think of your safety! What if Emma drops your heart medication? What if her injured hand causes a dosage error? Luca agrees with me that your health is our paramount priority!”
“Then let Luca tell me that himself,” Mrs. Moretti said coldly.
“Luca is already in an emergency board meeting downtown,” Isabella lied smoothly. “He left at dawn. He gave me full authority to handle domestic staffing for the day.”
She looked at me, her eyes narrowing into cold slits.
“Emma, pack your personal items from the medical station. Brenda will assume control of the tray.”
“No,” I said firmly.
Brenda reached out to physically move the medication tray off the table.
Instinct took over. Forgetting the pain in my right arm, I slammed my left hand down over the brass tray, shielding Mrs. Moretti’s pills. “You will not touch these medications until Dr. Keller verifies the transfer order!”
“How dare you!” Isabella hissed, stepping into my space. The mask of society charm dropped entirely, revealing the snarling predator beneath. “You insolent little tramp! You take orders from me! Brenda, remove her from the room!”
Brenda grabbed my left shoulder, pulling me back with surprising force.
“Let go of me!” I struggled, but with my right hand trapped in a stiff fiberglass cast, I was off-balance.
“Stop this at once!” Mrs. Moretti shouted, trying to rise from her chair, her face turning an alarming shade of pale gray as she clutched at her chest. “Stop it!”
“Get your hands off her.”
A voice like cracking thunder tore through the room.
Everyone froze.
Luca Moretti stood in the open doorway.
He was not downtown. He was wearing a charcoal three-piece suit, his coat unbuttoned, his expression so terrifyingly dark that the temperature in the room seemed to drop below freezing.
Behind him stood two armed private security guards wearing Moretti logistics insignias.
Luca’s eyes moved from Brenda’s hand on my shoulder, to Isabella’s snarling face, and finally to his mother, who was gasping for breath in her chair.
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“I asked you a question yesterday, Isabella,” Luca said, walking into the room with slow, measured, terrifying steps. “And it seems you didn't quite understand the consequences of failing to answer it.”
***
