A Little Girl Said My Son’s Drink Was Making Him Sick—Then She Revealed Where the Other Bottles Were Hidden.

Down in the subterranean holding suite beneath the garage, Vivian Chen sat bound to a heavy wooden chair under the glare of a single overhead bulb. Her elegant black dress was disheveled, her pearl earrings removed, her face pale and streaked with mascara.

Standing before her in the shadows was Lorenzo, flanked by two armed Moretti enforcers and Dr. Mara Quinn.

Lorenzo set the black leather notebook onto the small metal table in front of her.

"Thirty-six months of entries, Vivian," Lorenzo said, his deep voice carrying a cold, terrifying stillness. "Who supplied the Paraneurin-42?"

Vivian glared at him, her lips trembling with stubborn defiance. "I have nothing to say to you, Lorenzo! If you harm me, my attorneys will go to the federal prosecutor!"

Lorenzo took a slow step forward. He didn't raise his voice; he didn't draw a weapon. He simply leaned down until his dark eyes were inches from her face, his towering broad frame casting a terrifying shadow across her body.

"Your attorneys don't know where you are, Vivian," Lorenzo whispered, each word heavy as lead. "And the federal prosecutor doesn't care about a woman who poisoned a six-year-old child. You have ten seconds to give me a name, or you will spend the rest of your life in a dark room beneath the river."

Vivian’s artificial courage shattered completely under the weight of his dark gaze. She burst into hysterical, terrified sobs.

"It was Marcus Vance!" Vivian shrieked, her body shaking violently against the chair ropes. "Marcus Vance paid me twenty thousand dollars a month to keep Lucas sick!"

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed into razor-sharp points of ice. Marcus Vance was his chief rival in the Chicago shipping syndicate—a man who had been attempting to force Lorenzo into selling his river docks for three years.

"Why Lucas?" Lorenzo growled.

"Vance knew that as long as your son was dying," Vivian confessed, weeping frantically, "you would be emotionally broken and distracted! You wouldn't focus on auditing the dock shipping manifests! Vance was siphoning millions of dollars from your transport accounts while you were sitting by your son's bedside!"