Chapter 11 - THE POISON IN THE PERFUME
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While Olivia rested upstairs, Luca descended the cold stone steps into the cavernous wine cellar beneath the mansion.
I followed discreetly at a distance with a pot of fresh black coffee and clean towels, as Matteo had requested.
The basement was damp, smelling of ancient oak barrels, vintage wine, and the metallic tang of dried blood.
Silvio was chained by his wrists to an overhead iron support beam, his toes barely brushing the damp concrete floor.
His face was swollen, his left eye shut tight, and his expensive grey suit was torn and stained with filth.
Luca sat on an upturned wooden crate directly in front of his uncle, holding Vanessa's diamond-studded clutch.
On the small wooden table between them lay the contents of Vanessa's purse.
Among the lipstick tubes and credit cards sat an unlabelled, dark amber glass vial with an eye-dropper lid.
Beside it lay a typed laboratory report printed in German.
Luca picked up the glass vial and twirled it between his gloved fingers.
"Thallium sulfate," Luca said, his voice echoing off the stone arches like a death knell.
"A tasteless, odorless heavy metal poison that mimics progressive cardiovascular failure."
"It takes three to six months to shut down the central nervous system."
Luca leaned forward, the shadows of the cellar carving sharp hollows into his fierce face.
"This was found inside Vanessa’s secret compartment, Uncle."
"Were you planning to administer this to my morning espresso after the New Year?"
Silvio let out a ragged, wheezing cough, spitting phlegm onto the concrete floor.
"You were getting too powerful, Luca," Silvio rasped, his lone open eye gleaming with stubborn defiance.
"You started refusing our old smuggling routes, talking about legitimate real estate and community trust funds."
"You were turning into your mother."
"And once you married Vanessa, the entire Russo estate was legally tied to your name."
Silvio let out a dry, rattling chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine.
"If you died of natural causes, Vanessa would inherit every acre and every shipping container."
"And I would have managed the entire empire as her trusted senior advisor."
Luca’s expression didn't change, but his grip on the glass vial tightened until the glass groaned.
"Where is my mother’s final testament, Silvio?" Luca asked with chilling precision.
"Arthur Vance’s ledger mentioned that Isabella left a recorded deposition before her car was sabotaged."
"He wrote that she placed a cassette tape in your personal care because she trusted you as her brother-in-law."
Silvio went completely rigid against the chains, his arrogance faltering for the first time.
"I burned it," Silvio lied, his voice wavering slightly.
Luca stood up, unsheathing a silver folding knife from his boot with a fluid, terrifying motion.
"You never destroy leverage, Uncle," Luca whispered, pressing the flat of the cold blade against Silvio's throat.
"You keep it in case your partners turn on you."
"Tell me where my mother's voice is buried, or I will let Matteo demonstrate the interrogation techniques we learned in Palermo."
Silvio looked into Luca’s pitch-black eyes and realized there was no mercy left in his nephew's soul.
"The family mausoleum," Silvio choked out, gasping as the steel pressed harder against his skin.
"At Rosehill Cemetery."
"Inside the false urn behind your father's marble crypt."
"The key is taped behind the picture frame of Saint Jude in my private study."
Luca pulled the blade back, wiping it cleanly against Silvio's torn sleeve.
"Matteo," Luca commanded without turning around.
May you like
"Take four men and go to Rosehill Cemetery right now."
"Bring me back my mother's voice."
