The Silent Housemaid and the Poisoned Legacy of the Romano Family
The rain drummed hard against the leaded glass windows of the study.
Outside, the Boston harbor was lost in a thick sheet of grey mist, but inside, the air felt tight and dry.
Sofia Romano paced the length of the Persian rug, her fingers twisting her gold necklace.
Her heels made a sharp, rhythmic sound against the hardwood borders of the floor.
Marcus Hale stood by the heavy mahogany desk, his dark coat still damp from the courtyard.
His eyes, cold and analytical, never left my face.
“My brother is upstairs dying, Nina,” Sofia said, her voice shaking slightly.
“We do not have time for you to stare at the wall.”
“I am not staring, Miss Romano,” I said softly.
I kept my hands clasped in front of my white apron to hide the trembling.
In the master bedroom on the third floor, Dr. Elaine Voss was monitoring Alexander’s failing pulse.
The poison was slow, but it was thorough.
“If you know how to get into his personal safe, speak now,” Marcus said.
His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, the tone of a lawyer who calculated every syllable.
“The guards outside will not keep the family cousins quiet forever,” he added.
“Luca is already demanding to see the medical reports.”
Just mentioning Luca’s name made the air in the room feel heavier.
I stepped closer to the portrait of the first Romano patriarch hanging behind the desk.
“Alexander spoke to me three weeks ago,” I said, looking at the painted canvas.
“He was sitting in this very chair, looking at his pocket watch.”
Sofia stopped pacing, her eyes burning into me.
“He told me that if the rain ever stopped the clock, I should look to the year the timber arrived,” I said.
“I thought he was simply tired.”
“That is nonsense,” Sofia muttered, shaking her head.
“My brother does not speak in riddles to the house staff.”
“He did when he realized someone was changing his medicine,” I replied.
I reached up and carefully tilted the heavy gold frame of the portrait to the side.
Behind it lay the matte-black digital keypad and the physical dial of a heavy wall safe.