Chapter 3 - The Trap in the Courtyard
Dawn broke over the harbor with a pale, bruised sky. The crisp autumn air bit at Rosalind’s cheeks as she walked across the cobblestone courtyard toward the main mansion, carrying a basket of freshly laundered linens. Titan trotted faithfully at her right side, his heavy tail swaying back and forth like a pendulum.
The estate looked peaceful in the morning light, but Rosalind could feel eyes watching her from the upper-story windows. Ever since the night she saved Titan, the whispers among the estate staff had turned into outright hostility. The other maids wouldn't look her in the eye. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, had sneered at her twice during breakfast.
As Rosalind approached the side service entrance, something caught Titan’s attention.
The dog stopped dead in his tracks, his hackles rising instantly. A low, menacing growl ripped from his throat, showing rows of razor-sharp white teeth. His nose twitched violently as he stared at a heavy, ornate silver bowl resting half-hidden behind a decorative stone planter near the kitchen steps.
Inside the bowl was a thick, raw cut of prime rib—smothered in a dark, sweet, chemical glaze.
Rosalind froze. Her veterinary training kicked in instantly. The faint, sweet smell drifting off the meat wasn't marinade. It was pure ethylene glycol—antifreeze. Highly toxic, fast-acting, and virtually untraceable until it was too late. Someone had tried to finish the job. Someone had tried to poison Titan a second time.
"Good boy," Rosalind whispered, grabbing Titan’s heavy collar to hold him back before he could investigate the laced meat. "Don't touch it."
Suddenly, a sharp sound echoed from the second-story balcony above.
Rosalind snapped her head upward. Standing behind the wrought-iron railing was a tall, impeccably dressed man with slicked-back blonde hair and an expensive tailored suit: Julian Vance, Dante’s chief financial officer and legal counsel. Julian was holding a porcelain teacup, his expression cool, polite, and utterly venomous.
Their eyes locked across the courtyard. Julian didn't look startled. Instead, a slow, mocking smile spread across his face. He raised his teacup in a silent toast, turned on his heel, and walked back inside, disappearing behind heavy velvet curtains.
The realization hit Rosalind like a physical blow. Julian Vance wasn't just an accountant. He was the traitor Nonna had warned her about. He was the one who had tried to poison Titan, and he was the one leaking syndicate assets to rival factions.
Before Rosalind could pull her phone out to call Dante, heavy footsteps echoed behind her.
Dante Castellano stepped out from the arched stone breezeway, flanked by two armed guards. His dark eyes darted from Rosalind to the silver bowl on the ground, and finally to the toxic meat glinting in the morning light.
The temperature in the courtyard seemed to drop twenty degrees. Dante’s face hardened into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. The air grew so tense that even the guards took an instinctive step backward.
"Whose bowl is that?" Dante’s voice was dangerously quiet, trembling with suppressed rage.
"It wasn't for the dogs, Mr. Castellano," Rosalind said steadily, her voice ringing clear across the courtyard. "It was for Titan. And it was laced with enough antifreeze to kill a horse in twenty minutes."
Dante’s gaze snapped back to Rosalind, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying intensity. He stepped right up to her, his massive frame towering over her, and for a terrifying second, she thought he might direct his fury at her.
Instead, Dante slowly reached out, his warm, rough fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face.
"You found it," Dante murmured, his voice softening just enough for only her to hear. "You saved him again."
"I did," Rosalind replied, refusing to back down. "And I know who put it there."
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Dante’s eyes narrowed into slits of absolute ice. "Name him."
"Julian Vance."
