Chapter 7 - The Bride Who Needed Him Sick
The sedative was lorazepam.
Massimo had never been prescribed it.
That mattered.
If Vivian hoped merely to make him sleepy, there were simpler ways.
If she wanted medical records showing episodes of confusion, an unauthorized benzodiazepine could create exactly that appearance.
Marco brought Dr. Samuel Price into the surveillance room after midnight.
Price had been Massimo’s physician for eight years.
He examined the laboratory report.
“If he consumed enough, he could appear intoxicated. Slurred speech. impaired coordination. Memory gaps.”
“Could another doctor mistake that for neurological illness?” Marco asked.
“If they were looking for one.”
Massimo sat across from him.
“Document 17 allows emergency trust control after two physicians certify incapacity.”
Price frowned.
“I’m one of the physicians named in your trust.”
“Who’s the second?”
“Traditionally, your mother’s cardiologist because he knows the family.”
“Dr. Lowell?”
“Yes.”
Marco opened his tablet.
Dr. Peter Lowell had recently received two large consulting payments.
Both from a medical-advisory company.
The advisory company belonged to Arthur Vale’s brother-in-law.
Price swore quietly.
Massimo felt the pieces locking together.
“They need a medical event,” he said.
Price nodded.
“Possibly several.”
“One at the wedding would be useful.”
Marco looked toward Massimo.
“Three hundred witnesses watching you collapse.”
“And a doctor already present.”
Dr. Lowell was invited.
So was Arthur Vale.
So was Damian.
Vivian had constructed the room she needed.
Massimo turned to Marco.
“Replace everything I consume from now until Sunday.”
“Already happening.”
“And Lucia’s medication.”
“Secured.”
Price leaned forward.
“You need police.”
“We’re speaking with prosecutors tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I need evidence tying Vivian and Damian to the dosing.”
“You already have the tea.”
“We have a cup that came from a room Vivian occupied. Defense counsel will ask who else handled it.”
Price sighed.
“You are taking an extraordinary risk.”
Massimo thought of Sophie saying the same thing without politeness.
“I know.”
The next morning, Sophie returned to the estate under a new title.
Temporary personal aide to Lucia Moretti.
Vivian’s smile could have cut glass.
“How fortunate.”
Sophie handed her coat to a staff member.
“For Lucia, yes.”
Vivian stepped close.
“You should have taken the severance.”
Sophie answered softly.
“You should have called the police.”
Then she walked away.
Massimo witnessed the exchange from the staircase.
Vivian saw him.
Her expression transformed instantly.
“Darling.”
She crossed the foyer and kissed him.
Sophie looked back once.
Massimo could not tell whether the emotion in her eyes was disgust, pity or both.
That afternoon Vivian organized a tasting for the reception.
Massimo pretended to participate.
He drank from glasses Marco’s team had substituted.
He ate food taken directly from secured trays.
Vivian watched him carefully.
Too carefully.
Then Elena Rossi arrived from corporate headquarters.
Massimo studied his executive assistant.
Fifty-two. Immaculate gray suit. Calm voice.
She had served Enzo before Massimo.
“London reports,” she said.
Massimo took the folder.
“Anything unusual?”
“No.”
“Credential issues?”
Elena blinked.
“Credential issues?”
“Information security flagged duplicate authorization attempts.”
Her reaction appeared genuine.
“I’ll call IT.”
“Don’t.”
She looked at him.
“We’re auditing quietly.”
“Of course.”
Massimo almost dismissed her.
Then Elena noticed the cream folder beside his laptop.
Not Document 17.
A decoy.
But her face changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
“You recognize this style?” Massimo asked.
“No.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Elena hesitated.
“Your father used cream folders for confidential family agreements.”
Massimo became still.
“Did Damian know that?”
“Everyone close to Enzo knew.”
“What did the handwritten numbers mean?”
Elena’s eyes moved toward the door.
“Massimo—”
“Answer.”
“They were sequential settlement drafts.”
“Settlement of what?”
“I don’t know.”
“You worked for my father twenty years.”
“I scheduled his meetings. I did not read his legal documents.”
A lie.
Massimo could feel it.
Before he pressed further, Vivian entered.
“Elena! Thank God. Tell Massimo the cathedral seating needs his attention.”
Elena looked relieved.
Massimo did not miss it.
Later he told Marco, “Watch her.”
“You think Elena helped Damian?”
“I think she knows what Document 17 means.”
That evening Sophie helped Lucia prepare for bed.
Lucia touched the bruise on Sophie’s elbow.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You were hurt because of me.”
“No.”
Sophie adjusted the blanket.
“I was hurt because Vivian chose to hurt people.”
Lucia looked toward the door.
“She wasn’t always like this.”
“You knew her before Massimo?”
“No.”
“But?”
Lucia lowered her voice.
“I recognized her father.”
Sophie stopped.
“Her father?”
“The first time Vivian brought me a photograph from her childhood.”
Lucia’s hands trembled.
“Her father was Thomas Crawford.”
“That name means something?”
“It wasn’t always his name.”
Lucia swallowed.
“Before he changed it, he was Thomas Bell.”
Sophie waited.
Lucia whispered:
“He worked for Carlo Moretti.”
The room became quiet.
“What did he do?”
“He kept Carlo’s books.”
Sophie stared.
“And after Enzo took the company?”
“He disappeared.”
“Where?”
“I thought he left New York.”
Lucia shook her head slowly.
“Now I think he spent the rest of his life teaching his daughter what the Morettis had done.”
Outside the bedroom, Vivian stood motionless.
She had approached without making a sound.
Sophie did not see her.
Neither did Lucia.
But the hallway camera did.
And in the surveillance room, Massimo watched Vivian’s expression.
No surprise.
Only hatred.
Lucia had finally spoken the name Vivian never wanted connected to her.
Thomas Bell.
Vivian’s father.
And suddenly Massimo understood something terrifying.
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Vivian had not met him by accident.
She had been raised for this.
