My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 4 Poisoned

by Marita A. Hansen

  Alberto laughed, although it sounded forced. “Luck.”

  “You should take my name then,” Lucky said, “because right now I am not living up to it. That son of mine really is going to be the death of me.” He turned to his side, looking at Thierry who had been standing there stiff during the argument. Lucky waved at him to come over.

  Thierry stood frozen, his face betraying his terror.

  “Boy,” Lucky said, “give me a drink.”

  Thierry moved forward stiffly. He handed Lucky a glass of wine, then placed a glass in front of the other men, getting the correct one for Alberto. Lucky swallowed his down in one go, while the others ignored theirs.

  Thierry skittered off, looking as if he couldn’t wait to get out of there. I concentrated on Alberto, massaging his tense shoulders. “Have a drink,” I said, “it will make you feel better.”

  “Sì, listen to your lovely wife,” the don said, picking up his glass. “Let’s drink to our families’ new alliance.”

  Alberto picked up his glass in response, then put it back down, shaking his head. “I cannot.”

  The don put his drink down. “What did you say?”

  “I’m sorry, don, but I cannot drink to this new alliance until you stop your grandson from sexually harassing me. He threatened my cousin’s life today if I didn’t bed him. I am not that kind of man, and I do not want Matteo, and if you wish for this alliance to continue, you will make sure he is kept away from me and my own. You will also make sure that your brother ceases torturing Jagger. When I went to see Jagger today he was not capable of…” he breathed out, “…he was too damaged to do anything. I understand that the Padre has his needs, but he will have to make sure he doesn’t do anything to Jagger that requires more than an hour to recover from.”

  “It is not my place to tell my brother what to do with the man who mutilated him.”

  “It is your place if you want us to stay allies, otherwise I will tell the Black Russian about what has happened to his guards, and what your brother is doing to his lover.”

  The don’s eyes widened. “What do you mean: his lover?”

  “Oh, did I fail to tell you that the blond guard you took is the Black Russian’s lover?” Alberto smiled at the don’s silence. “Which means: if you don’t want that crazed lunatic to wipe out your famiglia, I suggest you rein in your brother, otherwise I will be on the phone to him tonight detailing everything that is happening to his lover.”

  “How dare you threaten my famiglia!” the don yelled.

  “I am not threatening them; I am protecting my own famiglia. And don’t think you can kill me over this, because if I don’t phone the Black Russian back every night he will descend upon this island like the plague that he is.”

  The don’s face paled, but he nodded, Alberto’s calculated mind impressing me, but not enough to stave off my desire to kill him. I patted his shoulder. “Shall I bring Thierry back to refill the glasses so we can re-toast?”

  “No,” Alberto waved a hand. “There is no need for a toast, the don and I have an understanding.” He pushed the wine glass away, making my stomach drop.

  “You shouldn’t waste such beautiful wine,” I said, willing myself to stay calm. “So, drink up.”

  Alberto shook his head. “After Matteo’s performance, I want whisky. Get me some.”

  Lucky snorted. “Whisky over this fine wine? That is sacrilegious.” The don’s son leaned over and grabbed Alberto’s glass, making me stiffen. Before I could do anything, he gulped it down in one go, then placed the glass down on the table. “It’s such a waste of talent that your famiglia doesn’t work full-time making wine. You are better wine makers than slave traders, though I am impressed with your bargaining skills, Alberto, you might just make a good don—just as long as you don’t go threatening my famiglia again, because we are not so weak as to cower to the Black Russian.”

  With my heart pounding, I watched Lucky closely, the man not reacting to the drink. He continued talking, telling Alberto that he would sort out his son as well as the Padre for him. After several seconds, I moved my gaze to the other brother. Nino hadn’t drunk his wine yet, his fingers only toying with the long stem of the glass. My heart started racing faster, now realizing that Thierry must’ve mixed up the drinks, then a second later that theory came crashing down as Lucky grabbed his chest and let out a loud grunt, looking as if he was having a heart attack. The don screamed for Nino to help his brother. Nino jumped up, along with Alberto, who pulled Lucky from his chair and laid him down on the floor.

  Lucky’s eyes went round, then he let out a loud gasp, the man going still a second later, making me want to cry out that this wasn’t meant to happen! I gripped onto my head as Nino started performing CPR on his brother. After a few minutes, Alberto placed a hand on Nino’s back, saying the words that I was dreading, “He’s dead.”

  Nino continued to pump at his brother’s chest, ignoring Alberto.

  Alberto squeezed his shoulder. “He’s dead,” he repeated.

  Nino yanked free. “No!” he yelled, his face twisted in sorrow. He went back to performing CPR on his older brother. His father, the don started wailing, calling out Lucky’s real name, “Marco!”

  Alberto placed a finger to Lucky’s neck. “He’s gone.”

  Nino stopped and leaned over his brother’s dead body, his shoulders shaking, his sobs breaking my heart. Lucky was an evil man, but I had still caused pain where it shouldn’t have been laid. No one but Frano would’ve grieved over Alberto, but a whole house would be grieving over the death of Marco “Lucky” Donatelli.

  A thud came from behind me. I turned to find the old don sprawled out on the floor, the man having collapsed. I screamed at Alberto, who jumped up and went for him. Nino scrambled across the floor to his father, shoving Alberto out of the way, yelling “Papa!” He placed his ear to his father’s chest, then grabbed him and pulled him into his arms, wailing “Papa!”

  Tears streamed down my face. Two people were now dead because of me, one from poison, the other from sorrow, the frail don no doubt having had a real heart attack.

  Alberto jumped up and ran for the phone, quickly dialing for help, although he must’ve known it was too late. He barked into the receiver, yelling at the person on the other end to get an ambulance pronto. I turned and headed for the kitchen, finding Thierry looking through the doorway, along with the cook and her assistant, all of them appearing stunned.

  “Thierry,” I said, “Please come with me.”

  He shook his head.

  “Thierry! Come with me!”

  He stepped back, fear deeply embedded on his face, the boy no doubt thinking he’d done something wrong.

  “Thierry,” I gritted out. “Go to Frano’s room, check if he’s awake,” I said, already knowing he wouldn’t be, but needing the boy out of the way. “And if he’s not, stay with him until he is. He will need to know what has happened.”

  “But I did everything right,” he said, his voice wavering.

  I glared at him, wanting to slap him for speaking in front of the cooks. The women were now staring at him, my fear that they would guess what he had done overwhelming. I had to get him out of here. NOW.

  I reached for him. He flinched away from me, his tears now flowing freely. “Please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me,” he cried.

  “Be quiet,” I growled, “and go to Frano.”

  “But the men—”

  “—had heart attacks.”

  “How can two have heart attacks at the same time?” he said, looking at me as though I had tricked him into killing both of them.

  “Lucky Donatelli was a heavy drinker and smoker,” I answered, “and over fifty, and his father was a frail man, so go up to Frano’s room and do as you’re told.”

  “But—”

  “No buts!” I yelled, past my tolerance with the young fool, who seemed to forget it was his neck on the line as well as mine. “Go. Now!”

  His gaze moved past me.
I looked over my shoulder at Alberto, who was now staring at us. I swallowed back my terror, willing myself to stay calm. Alberto looked over at the remaining Donatelli: Nino was still wailing over his father, sending prayers up to a God who wasn’t listening. After a few seconds, Alberto’s focus shifted to the table, appearing to scrutinize it, then it returned to me. I could almost see his mind ticking over, trying to work out what had happened, the two deaths so sudden, two lives taken before our eyes in such a rush. Then his gaze settled on Thierry. Shaking his head, Jagger’s brother shrank back, looking utterly terrified. A second later, a roar came from Alberto, telling me he’d worked out that Thierry had done something.

  I pushed Thierry into the kitchen, yelling: “Run!” Thierry took off. I turned around, intending to block Alberto, but he plowed into me, knocking me through the door with such force that I was flung against the center bench. I yelled out as my back hit the hard marble, pain jolting through me. Alberto took off past me, running through the kitchen and out the back door after Thierry. I pulled off my heels and pushed up, then ran after Alberto, screaming at him not to hurt Thierry as I burst through the back door.

  Across the lawn, by the the gardener’s shed, Alberto was holding Thierry up by the neck, the boy’s feet not touching the ground.

  I ran across the grass, yelling: “Let him go!”

  Alberto dropped him. Thierry fell into a heap, crying his eyes out, and breaking my heart. Alberto pointed at Thierry, yelling: “He tried to murder me!”

  “He did no such thing,” I said, stopping next to him. “He’s just a boy.”

  “He poisoned the drinks!”

  “I didn’t, I didn’t,” Thierry sobbed.

  Alberto turned back to him. “Liar!”

  “I-I’m not,” Thierry said, his hiccupping sobs affecting his speech.

  Alberto bobbed down, putting his face right up to Thierry’s. The boy pushed his head back against the shed, his face a mask of terror.

  “Two people are dead!” Alberto yelled in Thierry’s face. “And the only ones alive didn’t drink the vino. Now, we’re going back inside and you’re going to drink what’s left.” He grabbed Thierry and lifted him up. Thierry tried to get away, but the boy was too small in comparison. Alberto threw him over a shoulder and carried a screaming Thierry back to the house.

  Hope flared through me as I ran after them, because I’d only poisoned one of the glasses, which meant that Alberto would have to admit he was wrong.

  Alberto stormed through the kitchen, the cook and her assistant looking horrified as he carried the screaming boy through the double doors, heading for the dining-room.

  Nino Donatelli looked up in shock as Alberto threw Thierry to the floor. Thierry cried out as he hit it, then he scrambled to his feet as Alberto advanced on him, backing him up into the table.

  Thierry held out his hands. “I didn’t do anything,” he sobbed.

  Alberto pointed at Nino’s glass of wine, yelling: “Drink it!”

  Thierry shook his head, making me curse in my mind, because there was nothing wrong with the wine, the boy was just being an idiot.

  “DRINK IT!” Alberto hollered.

  Thierry looked at me, making me want to slap him. I knew in that moment that the stupid child thought I’d poisoned all of the drinks, even though he’d only seen me do it to one. So I walked up to the table and picked up the glass. “Why would you think he would poison the vino?” I snapped at Alberto, portraying anger when all I felt was fear.

  “For what was done to his brother!” Alberto replied. “And for what I did to him!”

  I turned to Thierry. “Drink it, Thierry, and prove it isn’t poisoned, because I know you wouldn’t do such a thing. You are a good boy.”

  Thierry continued to stare at me.

  “Oh, Good Lord, Alberto, you’ve terrified him too much. I will just drink it to disprove all of this nonsense.” I tipped it back, drinking half of it, then placed the glass on the table. I held my hands out. “So, when am I supposed to die if your nonsense is true?”

  Alberto stared at me, waiting, his expression telling me he expected me to drop dead at any second, but after a minute his shoulders slowly relaxed. “I apologize, I was wrong.” He turned to the door as the wail of sirens came from the front of the property. He ran out of the room, and returned a minute later with two medics, who split up, checking on each of the dead men. Two more medics arrived, carrying stretchers. They picked up the two men, placing a Donatelli on each one, then carried them outside to the ambulances. I followed, watching as Alberto hugged Nino, the Donatelli man completely shattered. Then Nino got into his father’s ambulance and left, his brother’s ambulance following close behind.

  I headed back inside with Alberto. “Poor Nino,” he said, shaking his head. “Two in one day, too much for one famiglia to have to face.” He focused on me. “Frano will need to be told, because by tomorrow all of the top Donatelli men will be vying for leadership, Nino the exception. He is a playboy and won’t want it. Plus, he is not made to lead like his father or brother, but his uncle is.” He shook his head again. “This is bad, this is very bad.”

  “The priest?” I said, feeling sick.

  “No, his twin. He is the strongest willed Donatelli. He will rule harder than his older brother. I am not looking forward to new negotiations. This will make things much harder for Jagger. The priest’s twin allows him to do anything he wants, and just when I had managed to negotiate a better deal for Jagger.” He rubbed his head, then looked over at Thierry as the boy picked up the glasses, placing them on a tray. Alberto watched him, looking as though he was thinking again, then his eyes went wide. Before I knew what was happening, he rushed towards Thierry, yelling at the boy to put the glasses down. Thierry jumped, the glasses falling from the tray, smashing against the floor, thankfully shattering the evidence.

  Alberto grabbed Thierry. “You poisoned my wine, my wine!”

  “No!” Thierry screamed.

  I followed them as Alberto dragged Thierry over to the cook and her assistant. The women retreated into the kitchen, looking scared. Alberto burst through the door and threw Thierry at their feet. “Did you see what the boy was doing?”

  “I don’t understand, signore,” the cook said.

  “Did you see what the boy was doing earlier when he prepared the drinks?”

  The cook shook her head, then she looked at me. I knew it wasn’t accusatory, just that I was there, the woman desperately searching for anyone to get the crazed man away from her. But Alberto had gone past that, he was now running on adrenalin, his temper taking over from logic—although his temper was on the right track.

  He spun around. “You!” he yelled at me.

  “Me, what?” I said, trying my best to stay calm.

  “You did it!” he hollered. “You poisoned my drink, that’s how you knew the other one was safe. Lucky drank my drink, my drink! You tried to kill me, not Lucky.”

  I shook my head. “You’re imagining things, you’re just upset. Lucky was a heavy drinker and smoker, it was natural, not heinous. And what about the don? He didn’t drink from your glass.”

  He glared at me, looking as though he was trying to work out how the don had died, then the cook spoke, this time her tone accusatory. “Your signora was talking to the boy in whispers. Thierry looked upset at what she was saying and shaking his head.” The cook focused on me. “And after he poured the drinks I saw her drop something in the waste bin.” She pointed to where it was.

  Alberto rushed to the bin, searching through it, pulling everything out. He picked up a small plastic bag with some white powder in, not the one I had used, my one tiny. He turned to me, then to the cook, his gaze calculating, then he rushed past me, the scream that came from the dining-room telling me he had Thierry again. I rushed out, finding him on top of Thierry, trying to shove the packet into the boy’s mouth. I jumped onto Alberto’s back, screaming at him to get off. He flung me back then held up the little bag in front of Thierr
y’s face, the boy’s eyes locked onto Alberto’s. “I will get this tested and if it has a drop of poison in it you are dead—unless you tell me the truth now. Did you try to poison me?”

  “I didn’t want to, I didn’t; I didn’t want those men to die. How did they both die? Only one glass was poisoned.”

  Alberto went still. “You put it in there?”

  “No.”

  “Who?”

  Thierry started crying again, his hands going to his face.

  Alberto yanked them down. “If you don’t tell me I’ll kill you!”

  Thierry shook his head, the boy not going to point the finger at me. Alberto pulled his fist back, ready to punch Thierry, my husband having killed a man before with one blow.

  “I did it!” I yelled. “Not Thierry!”

  Alberto went still. He turned to look over his shoulder, his expression telling me he already knew. Then he pushed up and walked over to me. I backed up, banging into the wall.

  “Why?” he said.

  “For raping Jagger. For raping Thierry. And because I HATE you!”

  Before I could blink, his fist struck my face. It hurt like the Hell I hoped I wasn’t going to, but it didn’t kill me, although I knew I was going to die, the thought strangely not scaring me, because I was finally escaping this cruel life I had so stupidly chosen. Alberto would never have allowed me to be with Jagger or to have that happily-ever-after I so desperately wanted. My relationship with Jagger had been doomed from the moment I had accepted Alberto’s marriage proposal, if not before then, because of my husband’s deadly obsession with his cousin.

  The second punch struck me even harder than the first, crushing my nose. But this one didn’t hurt. I didn’t know why, possibly because it thrust me closer to death’s door, where I would cross over into whichever destination God had decided for me. Although I hadn’t believed in Him for a number of years, I did now, my Catholic schooling finally succeeding in the last moments of my life where it had failed before.

  My hazy mind turned to Jagger ... my beautiful, beautiful Jagger. As the third punch struck me, my last thought was that I had failed him—the knowledge worse than death.