Chapter 3 - The Secret Prescription
By Monday afternoon, the oppressive silence of the manor felt heavier than usual. A cold, relentless autumn rain pelted against the stained-glass windows of the second-floor gallery, casting long, bruised shadows across the Persian rugs. I had spent the entire morning scrubbing baseboards and polishing brass fixtures, my mind constantly drifting back to Viktor’s warning. They will try to use you to break him.
I kept Sofia close, setting her up with a small box of wooden blocks in the linen storage room—a quiet, drafty annex just down the hall from the dreaded Room 4. She was content, stacking the blocks into crooked towers and knocking them down with a silent, delighted grin. Every time I looked at her, my heart swelled with fierce, protective love, mixed with a sickening wave of anxiety. What was I doing here? Why didn't I just pack our bags, walk out those heavy iron gates, and take my chances on the streets of Baltimore?
Because the rent was due in three days. Because the local clinic needed a fifty-dollar copay just to replace the ear mold on Sofia's hearing aid. Because poverty in this city was a slow, crushing machine that left you with very few choices indeed.
Around two o'clock, the private house phone on the hallway wall rang sharply. It was a heavy, old-fashioned rotary model that only connected internal extensions. I jumped, wiping my hands on my apron, and picked up the receiver.
"Reyes," I answered hesitantly.
"Marisol."
It wasn't Mrs. Renner's sharp cackle, nor was it Viktor's gravelly drone. It was a voice that sounded like crushed gravel and old smoke—deep, resonant, and unmistakably fragile. Nikolai Drazen.
"Mr. Drazen?" I stammered, glancing quickly toward the linen room to make sure Sofia was still occupied. "Is... is everything alright? Do you need Mrs. Renner?"
"No," he said, his breathing slightly shallow on the other end of the line. "I need you."
My breath hitched. "Sir?"
"Bring fresh water and the small silver tray from the pantry up to Room 4. And... bring the child if she wants to come. Don't tell Renner."
Before I could formulate a coherent response, the line clicked dead. A dial tone buzzed in my ear like an angry insect.
I stood there for a full ten seconds, staring at the black plastic receiver. Don't tell Renner. If the head housekeeper caught me taking Sofia anywhere near the east wing without explicit authorization, she would have my badge—and probably throw us both out into the freezing rain without a second thought. But defying Nikolai Drazen directly on the phone felt even more perilous. In his world, disobedience was met with finality.
I swallowed hard, walked over to the linen room, and knelt down beside Sofia. She looked up at me, her big, expressive eyes blinking inquisitively.
"Hey, sweet girl," I whispered, signing slowly with my hands. Want to go see the sad man?
Her face lit up instantly. She gathered her stuffed elephant by its remaining ear, stood up, and grabbed my hand with her small, warm fingers. That was all the answer I needed.
We slipped down the east corridor like ghosts. The heavy mahogany door of Room 4 was cracked open just a few inches, exactly as it had been on Thursday. I pushed it open gently with my shoulder, holding the silver tray with one hand and Sofia's small hand with the other.
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, old paper, and expensive bourbon. The thick velvet drapes were pulled tight across the tall windows, blocking out the gray afternoon light, leaving only the amber glow of a single brass desk lamp to illuminate the space.
Nikolai Drazen was sitting up against a mountain of down pillows in the massive mahogany bed. He looked slightly better than he had days before—the gray tinge around his lips had faded to a pale, natural skin tone—but the dark circles under his eyes spoke of absolute exhaustion. He wore a dark silk robe tied loosely at the waist, and his broad chest rose and fell with a visible, controlled effort.
As we stepped inside, his dark eyes locked instantly onto Sofia. A microscopic softening touched the harsh lines of his face.
"You brought her," he noted, his voice raspy.
"You asked me to, Mr. Drazen," I replied, keeping my voice low and respectful as I set the silver tray down on the mahogany nightstand. "I... I hope we're not intruding."
"No," he murmured, his gaze shifting from Sofia to me. "Everyone else in this house approaches me like I'm a loaded gun about to go off in their hands. It gets tedious."
"Maybe because you are a loaded gun, sir," I blurted out before I could stop myself.
Sofia let go of my hand, trotted right up to the edge of the bed, and rested her small palms against the heavy quilt, staring up at him with unblinking curiosity.
Nikolai let out a low, gravelly chuckle that sounded like stones shifting in a dry riverbed. "Point taken, Miss Reyes. Point well taken."
He reached out a large, calloused hand—its knuckles scarred from old street fights and business deals alike—and gently rested his fingertips against the top of Sofia's head. She didn't flinch. Instead, she leaned into his touch slightly, her hearing aid clicking softly as she tilted her head.
"She doesn't judge," Nikolai whispered, almost to himself. "In my line of work, people only look at you to figure out how much you're worth dead or alive. She just... sees a person."
"She sees when someone is hurting," I corrected softly, stepping closer to ensure she didn't accidentally bump his chest too hard. "It's a gift she has. Or a curse, depending on the day."
Nikolai withdrew his hand slowly, leaning his head back against the pillows. His eyes drifted toward the nightstand, landing on the small, unlabeled pill bottle that I had caught from falling days earlier. It sat next to a glass of water.
"You know what those are?" he asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, confidential register.
"I know they didn't come from a pharmacy," I answered truthfully. "And I know someone in this house wants you dead, Mr. Drazen. If you're asking me if I'm going to tell anyone... I have enough problems keeping my daughter fed. I don't have time to play detective."
Nikolai stared at me for a long, piercing moment, as if weighing my soul on an invisible scale. Then, slowly, a faint, genuine smile touched the corner of his lips.
"Good," he said quietly. "Because if you were a spy, you'd be the worst one I've ever seen. And if you were a liar, you'd be a terrible actress."
He reached out and picked up the small plastic bottle, turning it over in his heavy fingers. "My own personal physician prescribed these. Or rather, the man I paid a quarter-million dollars a year to keep my heart beating. Turns out, loyalty has a very specific price tag in Baltimore, and someone offered him more to turn my evening tonic into a slow-acting neurotoxin."
My stomach tightened into a knot. "Why don't you fire him? Why keep him around?"
"Because an enemy you know is easier to watch than an enemy you've chased out the door," Nikolai replied coldly, his eyes flashing with a sudden, razor-sharp intensity that reminded me precisely why men twice his size lowered their voices when they spoke his name. "Let him think his poison is working. Let him think I'm dying in this bed. It flushes out the rest of the rats who are waiting to inherit my empire."
May you like
Sofia, sensing the sudden shift in the heavy atmosphere, reached out and tapped the back of his hand twice—her universal sign for comfort.
Nikolai looked down at her small hand, stunned into silence once more by a four-year-old girl's pure, unfiltered empathy. The harsh, lethal mob boss melted instantly beneath the touch of a child who couldn't even hear his voice.
