The Mafia's Thirteenth Bride

Chapter Ten: How Dare You

Dorian

The doctor's hands wouldn't stop shaking.

I watched him from the corner of Ivy's room, my arms crossed, my back against the wall. He was middle-aged. Soft. The kind of man who probably became a doctor because he wanted to help people, not because he had a stomach for blood.

Right now, his bloodless fingers were fumbling with a syringe.

"Well?" I said.

He flinched. "I'm... I'm trying to find the vein, Mr. Vale."

"She's unconscious. Her veins aren't moving. Find one."

He swallowed hard and kept working. Ivy lay still on the bed, her face too pale, her lips slightly blue. The gash on her forehead had stopped bleeding, but the bruising around it had spread. Purple and yellow and black.

She looked small. Smaller than she already was.

Like a child.

I pushed that thought away.

"What did you find?" I asked.

The doctor hesitated. "In her system? Traces of a sedative. Not enough to kill her. But enough to make her..." He trailed off.

"Make her what?"

"Weak. Susceptible." He finally found the vein and inserted the needle. Ivy didn't move. Didn't even flinch. "Someone has been giving her small doses. Regularly. For at least a week."

The room felt colder.

"Who prescribed it?"

The doctor's hands stopped shaking. That was worse. When a nervous man goes still, it means he's afraid of something worse than the man with the gun.

"I... Mr. Vale, the prescription was written under your name."

I went very still myself.

"Come again?"

"The sedative. It was prescribed by..." He pulled out a piece of paper from his bag. "By you. Or someone using your medical authorization."

I took the paper from him. Read it. My name was at the top. My signature at the bottom.

A signature I had never written.

"Someone forged my signature," I said.

The doctor nodded slowly. "That would be my guess, sir."

"Who would have access to my medical authorization?"

He looked at the floor. "Anyone in your household, Mr. Vale. With the right connections. The right... incentives."

I folded the paper and put it in my pocket.

"Finish treating her. I want her awake by morning."

"And if she's not?"

I looked at Ivy. Her chest rose and fell. Shallow breaths. Like she was practicing being dead.

"Then you'll wish you'd never met me."

I left the room.

Marcus was waiting in the hallway.

"She awake?" he asked.

"No."

"The doctor?"

"Says someone's been drugging her. Small doses. For at least a week."

Marcus's face didn't change. That was why I trusted him. He'd seen worse. Heard worse. Done worse.

"Who?"

"The prescription was under my name. Forged signature."

"So someone in the house."

"Someone with access to my office. My files. My..." I stopped.

"Your what?"

I thought about the past week. The dinners Ivy hadn't eaten. The way she'd stared at her food like she was waiting for it to bite back. The tea Mrs. Chen brought her every night.

The tea Ivy never drank.

I'd watched her pour it down the drain once. I'd assumed she was being difficult. Ungrateful.

Now I wondered if she was being smart.

"The tea," I said. "Mrs. Chen's tea."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You think the housekeeper is poisoning your wife?"

"I think the housekeeper is the only person who's been alone with Ivy every night since she arrived."

"That's a serious accusation."

"I'm not accusing. I'm wondering."

Marcus nodded slowly. "What do you want me to do?"

I looked down the hallway. Toward the kitchen. Toward Mrs. Chen's quarters.

"I want you to search her room."

"Now?"

"No. Wait until she's asleep. I don't want her to know we're watching."

"And if we find something?"

I cracked my knuckles. One by one.

"Then we'll have a conversation."

I found Mrs. Chen in the kitchen at midnight.

She was making tea.

Not for herself. For Ivy.

"The doctor said she needs rest," I said from the doorway.

Mrs. Chen turned. Her face was soft. Worried. Believable.

"I know. That's why I'm making her tea. Chamomile. It helps with sleep."

"She's unconscious, Mrs. Chen. She doesn't need help with sleep."

The housekeeper paused. Her hand hovered over the teapot.

"Old habits," she said quietly. "I've been making tea for the brides for so long. It feels wrong not to."

"How many brides?"

"All of them." She looked at me. Something flickered in her eyes. "Every single one."

"And they all drank your tea?"

"Most of them." She poured the hot water into the cup. Steam rose.

I walked toward her. Slow. Measured.

"What are you saying, Mrs. Chen?"

She set the teapot down. Her hands were steady. Too steady.

"I'm saying that this house is dangerous, Mr. Vale. Not because of you. Because of what lives in the walls. The shadows. The..." She stopped. Shook her head. "Forget I said anything. I'm just tired."

"You're lying."

She looked up at me. Her eyes were wet.

"Am I?"

I stared at her for a long moment. She stared back. Neither of us blinked.

Then I picked up the cup of tea.

"Drink it," I said.

"Excuse me?"

"Drink the tea. If it's just chamomile, you have nothing to worry about."

Mrs. Chen's face went pale. Not a lot. Just enough.

"Mr. Vale, I don't think..."

"That's the problem." I held the cup out to her. "No one in this house thinks. They just follow orders. They just make tea. They just watch women die." I stepped closer. "Drink. The. Tea."

Her hand reached for the cup.

Trembling.

She brought it to her lips, closed her eyes and took a sip.

Then another.

Then she set the cup down.

"Satisfied?" she asked.

I watched her for a reaction. For a twitch. A tremble.

But I got nothing.

"Leave the tea," I said. "I'll take it to her myself."

Mrs. Chen nodded, walked past me and paused at the door.

"You know, Mr. Vale," she said without turning around. "You remind me of your father."

My blood went cold.

"How dare you."