Victor asked in a deadly calm voice. “Someone tampered with his asthma meds,” Clara said. “Look at the sediment; it shouldn’t be there, and the consistency is off.
Someone added something.” Frank Russo appeared in the doorway, his shirt half-buttoned as if he’d dressed in a hurry. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Victor?” “Someone tried to kill my son in my own house, under my protection, again.” The paramedics carried Luke out on a stretcher, his breathing easier now. Clara had managed to induce vomiting, clearing most of what he’d swallowed, but he needed the hospital.
As he was carried away, Victor grabbed Clara’s arm. “You’re coming with us. And you,” he pointed to Frank, “find out who had access to this medication. I want names in an hour.”
The hospital was turned into a fortress. Victor had guards at every entrance, every hallway, every window. No one got near Luke without a full sweep. Clara sat by the boy’s bed, watching the monitors.
The doctors said he’d be fine. She’d caught it in time. But the fear in her eyes said what they didn’t dare voice out loud.
Two attempts in two weeks meant someone was desperate, and desperate people made mistakes. She remembered the medication delivery. The night nurse, a woman named Patricia, had brought it in on a tray at 10:00 PM.
Standard procedure, but Patricia had only been hired a week ago, right after Luke came home. “Too convenient!” Clara’s intuition screamed. The same instinct that had saved her patients dozens of times.
Something didn’t add up. The medication had been tampered with after it left the pharmacy but before it reached Luke’s room. That meant the threat was inside the house.
She pulled out the phone Victor had given her and sent him a text: “I need to talk to you alone. About the medication.”
The reply came seconds later: “Stay with Luke. I’m handling it.”
But that wasn’t enough. Clara stood up and walked into the hallway where the two guards stood. “I need to make a call,” she said. “In private.”
The guards looked at each other but stepped back. Clara walked to the end of the hall and dialed the hospital pharmacy. “Hi, this is Clara Bell.
I’m calling about Luke Roman’s prescription. I need to check the dispensing records for his asthma meds from three days ago.” The pharmacist, a kind older man, checked the logs.
“Let’s see. Albuterol solution, prescribed by Dr. Kendrick, picked up on the 15th at 2:30 PM by a Mr. Frank Russo.” Clara’s heart skipped a beat.
Frank picked it up personally. “Yes, ma’am. He signed for it.”
“Is there a problem?” the pharmacist asked. “No, just checking. Thank you.” She hung up, her hands trembling.
Frank had personally picked up the medication that poisoned Luke. Frank, the man Victor trusted with his life. Frank, who had tried to stop the funeral.
Frank, who was always in the right place at the wrong time. Clara’s pulse quickened. If she told Victor, would he believe her?
Frank was his right hand for years. She was a homeless woman who’d been in their lives for less than two weeks. But if she stayed quiet and Luke died… Before she could decide, her phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number: “Stop asking questions or you’ll end up like the boy. We warned you.”
Clara’s blood turned to ice. Someone was watching her. Someone knew she was digging.
She looked around the hallway. The guards were at their posts. Nurses were moving in and out of rooms.
Everything looked normal. But nothing was normal. She ran back into Luke’s room and locked the door.
The boy was sleeping peacefully, unaware of the danger. Clara sat in the chair, positioning herself between Luke and the door. Her phone buzzed again.
Another text from the unknown number: “The boss’s men are meeting right now. They want you gone. They think you’re the threat.”
The clock was ticking, Clara. Back at the Roman estate, Victor’s remaining captains were gathered in his study. Dan Miller spoke first, his voice tight with frustration.
“Boss, with all due respect, that woman is the problem. Two poisonings since she showed up.
She’s the only new variable.” “She saved Luke both times,” Victor countered. “Or she poisoned him and played the hero to get closer to you,” Tony said cautiously.
“Look, I know you’re grateful. But think like a CEO, not a father. She shows up out of nowhere, knows about the poison, has access to everything.
Now Luke won’t take meds unless they come from her. That’s control, Victor. That’s manipulation.”
The other men nodded. “Get rid of her,” Dan urged, “before she finishes the job.” Victor clenched his jaw.
Every instinct told him Clara was innocent. But his men, the ones who had been loyal for years, were unanimous. And in his world, unanimity usually meant something.
“I’ll handle it,” Victor said quietly. The men left, satisfied. But when the door closed, Victor pulled out his phone and looked at Clara’s message again.
“I need to talk to you alone about the medication.” She’d found something. He was sure of it.
The question was, who was she going to blame? And would Victor believe her when she did? Three days later, Luke was strong enough to return home.
Victor insisted on a family dinner, something they hadn’t done in months. The table was set for eight. Victor and Mary at the heads, Luke and Clara on one side, Frank and Tony on the other.
Two empty chairs for the guards at the doors. Clara hadn’t wanted to come. The threatening texts had continued, getting more specific.
“You’re a dead woman. Leave while you can. No one misses a drifter.”
But Luke had begged her to be there, and she couldn’t say no. Now, sitting across from Frank Russo, she felt like a rabbit among wolves. Frank smiled warmly at her.
“Clara, you look lovely. Is that a new dress?”
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