Chapter 5 - Death of a King
The effect was horrifyingly fast.
Within ten seconds, Victor’s pupils dilated to twice their normal size. His chest gave a sudden, violent heave as his diaphragm paralyzed.
"Victor!" I gasped, dropping the empty syringe onto the floor.
He couldn't speak. His dark eyes locked onto mine, wide, filled with an agonizing, silent intensity as his body fought against the chemical chain locking his muscles. His grip on the armrests of the wheelchair tightened once—a final, desperate surge of physical force—and then his fingers went completely limp.
His head fell back against the headrest. His breathing stopped.
I scrambled to my feet, pressing two fingers firmly against his carotid artery.
Nothing.
No pulse. No blood pressure. His skin turned a pale, waxy gray within seconds, the warm color draining from his face as if his soul had been sucked out of the room.
A loud, violent bang rattled the mahogany doors.
The doors burst open, and Mrs. Vega ran in, followed immediately by three armed guards and a man in a black suit carrying a medical bag—Julian’s private physician, Dr. Mercer.
"What happened?!" Dr. Mercer shouted, pushing me roughly aside as he rushed to the wheelchair.
"He... he gasped for air and collapsed!" I cried out, forcing tears into my eyes and letting my body shake uncontrollably—a performance that required almost no acting at all because I was terrified out of my mind. "I checked his pulse! There's nothing!"
Dr. Mercer ripped open Victor’s shirt, slapping the pads of a portable ECG machine onto his broad chest. The machine let out a flat, continuous, agonizing tone:
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—
"Asystole," Dr. Mercer announced, turning to look at Mrs. Vega and the guards with a sharp, pre-arranged nod. "Severe cardiac arrest brought on by advanced autonomic failure. Victor Castellano is dead."
One of the guards immediately pulled out a satellite phone, dialing a number. "It's done. Tell Julian the king is down. Call the Commission to Warehouse 9 at the docks."
I collapsed onto my knees beside the wheelchair, grabbing Victor’s cold, lifeless hand, burying my face into his arm to hide my silent, terrified weeping. His skin felt like marble. His pulse was non-existent.
Wake up, I prayed frantically in my head, pressing my thumb into his limp palm. Please, God, wake up.
Two hours later, Victor’s body was placed inside a black velvet-lined casket and loaded into the back of a silver hearse parked in the courtyard.
Julian Castellano arrived at the estate thirty minutes later, flanked by eight heavily armed mercenaries. He stood in the grand foyer, sipping champagne from a crystal flute, tossing a stack of hundred-dollar bills onto the marble table in front of Mrs. Vega.
"Clean the house," Julian ordered smoothly, looking around the cavernous estate with hungry, triumphant eyes. "By tomorrow morning, all of Victor’s personal effects will be burned. This mansion belongs to me now."
He turned his cold blue eyes onto me as I stood near the doorway, holding my small canvas bag.
"And you," Julian said, walking over to me, touching my jaw with two cold fingers. "You did well, Elena. Your mother’s bills are paid. Now take your sister and get out of my city before I decide to clean up loose ends."
I flinched away from his touch, keeping my head bowed. "Yes, sir."
"Get her out of here," Julian barked to one of his men.
I was escorted out to the front gates and shoved onto the street into the cold, drizzling rain. As the heavy wrought-iron gates slammed shut behind me, I checked my watch.
3:45 PM.
One hour and forty-five minutes had passed since I injected the Swiss paralytic.
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The paralytic’s window was ninety minutes. Victor was supposed to wake up inside that casket fifteen minutes ago.
If he hadn't... he was suffocating inside a sealed velvet box in the back of a moving hearse.
