Chapter 8 - THE BLOOD IN THE MARBLE
The revelation hung in the sterile air like an executioner’s axe.
"Who touched the water today?" Sebastian demanded, his voice dropping into dangerous gravel.
"Only the exterior security detail," Gabriel answered.
"Three men are showing signs of cholinergic toxicity."
"Doctor Henderson has them on atropine in the carriage house."
"They'll survive."
Sebastian spun his chair toward the door.
"Lock down the estate."
"No water from the municipal mains."
"Switch to the underground artesian spring in sub-level three."
"And bring the kitchen staff to the wine cellar."
"I will question them myself."
"No," Clare said, stepping into his path.
Sebastian stopped his chair an inch from her shins.
"Clare, stay out of this."
"You're not going down there," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.
"You walked thirty yards tonight under combat stress."
"Your L4-L5 vertebrae are inflamed."
"If you tear the dura mater now, the paralysis becomes permanent."
"I have an empire to secure," Sebastian snarled, his eyes flashing with lethal impatience.
"And you have a spine to heal!" she shouted back, stepping closer.
"What good is your empire if you're buried in it?"
Gabriel stood in the doorway, his eyes wide.
Nobody in twenty years had raised their voice to Sebastian Lombardi and lived to see breakfast.
Sebastian stared at her.
He saw the fire in her eyes.
He saw that she was not afraid of his name, his guns, or his billions.
She was only afraid of him throwing away the miracle she had given him.
Slowly, the tension left his shoulders.
A faint, crooked smirk touched the corner of his mouth.
"You are a remarkably insolent woman, Miss Bennett."
"I am your medical professional, Mr. Lombardi."
"Now get back on the treatment table."
For the next two hours, while Gabriel purged the compromised staff from the estate, Clare worked on Sebastian’s back.
She applied ice packs to reduce the acute swelling.
She used gentle neuromuscular mobilization to release the spasming erector spinae muscles.
Her touch was firm, knowing, and careful.
Sebastian lay on his stomach, his breathing deep and steady beneath her hands.
"Tell me about Oliver's father," Sebastian murmured into the dark.
Clare’s hands paused for half a second before resuming their rhythm.
"He left when Oliver was diagnosed," she said quietly.
"Said he didn't sign up to raise a broken kid."
"Took my car and three thousand dollars from our savings account."
"Never saw him again."
"A coward," Sebastian said.
The word was heavy with absolute contempt.
"Most men are when things get heavy," Clare said.
"Not all men," Sebastian whispered.
He reached back with his hand, catching her fingers where they rested against his lower ribs.
He didn't squeeze.
He just held them.
Warm.
Protective.
"You will never have to worry about an invoice again, Clare," he said softly.
"Neither will Oliver."
"I don't want your charity, Sebastian."
"It isn't charity," he said, turning his head to look at her.
"It is an alliance."
Before she could answer, Gabriel returned to the room.
He carried a silver tray with a sealed wax envelope bearing the seal of the Chicago Commission.
"A courier delivered this to the front gate," Gabriel said, handing the letter to Sebastian.
Sebastian broke the wax with his thumb.
He unfolded the heavy parchment.
His gray eyes scanned the calligraphy.
"What is it?" Clare asked.
"Corrado called an extraordinary tribunal of the Five Families," Sebastian said.
"Tomorrow night at the Union League Club on Jackson Boulevard."
"Under the 1954 Syndicate Charter, an incapacitated Don who cannot stand before the council must surrender his seat to his next of kin."
Sebastian looked up from the letter.
A cold, terrifying smile spread across his face.
"Corrado told the Commission I am a bedridden invalid dying of organ failure."
"He thinks he is going to walk into that ballroom and take my crown without firing a shot."
He looked at Clare.
"How many steps can you give me by tomorrow night, Clare?"
May you like
Clare met his gaze.
"Enough to take back your throne."
