Chapter 2 - The White Pill's Secret
Carla was sorting the laundry in the basement when she found it.
She always checked Nina's pockets before throwing her little dresses into the washing machine.
Usually, she found pebbles, crushed flowers, or discarded candy wrappers.
But today, her fingers brushed against something hard and chalky.
She pulled out a small, hexagonal white pill.
There were no markings on it, no numbers, no brand name.
Carla frowned, holding the pill up to the harsh fluorescent light of the laundry room.
"Nina," Carla called out gently.
The toddler waddled into the room, hugging a stuffed bear.
"Sweetheart, where did you find this?" Carla asked, kneeling to meet her daughter's eyes.
"The doctor dropped it," Nina said innocently. "When he was looking at the sleeping uncle."
A cold chill washed over Carla.
She knew Dr. Hale. He was the most prestigious neurologist in the state.
He came twice a week to administer Massimo's medication and check his progress.
But Carla also knew that Massimo's prescribed pills were round and blue. She had poured him glasses of water to take them dozens of times.
Why would the doctor carry an unmarked, oddly shaped white pill?
And why did he drop it in such a hurry?
Carla was just a housekeeper, but life had taught her to be observant.
You didn't survive in a mafia mansion by turning a blind eye to strange occurrences.
She wrapped the pill carefully in a tissue and slipped it into her own apron pocket.
That evening, as she served dinner, she kept her head down but her ears open.
Dean Foster sat at the head of the table, laughing loudly, acting more like the boss than the underboss.
Camille sat next to him, her hand resting just a little too close to Dean's arm under the table.
Massimo ate in silence at the opposite end, his face pale, his eyes sunken.
"Dr. Hale says your nerve regeneration is completely stalled, Massimo," Camille said, feigning sympathy.
"Maybe it's time we start looking at long-term care facilities. The wedding planning is already so stressful."
Massimo didn't look up. "This house is my home, Camille. I am not going to a facility."
Dean intervened, his voice dripping with fake brotherly concern.
"She just wants what's best for you, boss. We all do. You've been getting weaker this past month."
Carla gripped the silver serving tray so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Massimo was getting weaker.
Right after the shooting, he had been full of fire, demanding physical therapy.
But over the last month, he had become lethargic, pale, and hopeless.
Could it be the medication?
That night, after putting Nina to sleep, Carla made a decision.
She couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.
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Massimo Rinaldi was a feared man, but he had always been kind to her and Nina. He never yelled at the staff. He let Nina play in his prized gardens.
She owed him the truth, but first, she needed to know exactly what the truth was.
