Exposed to the CEO Behind the Mafia Mask (by Silver Spoon) novel Chapter 134

Chapter 134: Chapter 134 Dawn of Hope

Caleb’s POV

For consecutive nights, visions of Yara draped in white had invaded my sleep like a relentless curse. The sight of her in that wedding gown, smirking as she approached me down the aisle of some grand cathedral, haunted every attempt at rest. The lack of sleep was wreaking havoc on my already frayed nerves, and I could feel the familiar edge of violence creeping into my system. I needed caffeine and the steady presence of my most trusted men to clear the fog from my mind.

I reached out to Jude and Xavier, suggesting we meet in the war room for espresso and strategy. Perhaps their counsel would help me regain the clarity I desperately needed to navigate this treacherous situation with the Rossi family.

As I emerged from Jude’s office, Ivy burst through her door like a woman fleeing a crime scene, her face drained of all color. The sight of her distress hit me with the force of a sledgehammer to the chest. Gemma immediately appeared at her side, concern etched across her sharp features. Every instinct in my body screamed to go after Ivy, to eliminate whatever was causing her pain, but Jude’s iron grip on my arm stopped me cold.

"Let Gemma handle this, Don," Jude’s voice carried the weight of hard-earned wisdom. "The women believe she’s developed stress-induced ulcers from everything she’s been dealing with. Your presence might only escalate her condition."

Xavier nodded grimly from behind his desk, where surveillance monitors displayed our territory’s perimeter. "This entire situation with the Rossi engagement has been poison for everyone involved. But you’re looking like death warmed over yourself, boss. Those shadows under your eyes could rival a corpse in the morgue."

I dragged a hand through my hair, feeling exhaustion seep into my bones like acid. "I can’t find peace when I close my eyes. That damned image of Yara in wedding white keeps playing on endless repeat in my head. It’s like psychological warfare, and I’m losing the battle."

We settled into the reinforced conference room with our espresso when my encrypted phone buzzed with a message from Finn, one of my most reliable associates in the medical field.

"Don Thorne, lunch is confirmed with my uncle from the private hospital. He’s ready to discuss our situation."

Finally, some movement in this chess game. I quickly typed back my confirmation and gratitude, knowing that Dr. Taylor held keys to doors I couldn’t kick down with brute force alone.

The day arrived with the promise of answers, and I found myself sitting across from Dr. Taylor at an exclusive restaurant known for its discretion regarding sensitive conversations. Finn’s uncle commanded respect even in civilian circles - tall, distinguished, with silver threading through his dark hair. His bearing reminded me of the old-school gentlemen my father had spoken of with reverence. The family resemblance to Finn was unmistakable, both possessing that refined quality that comes from generations of education and influence.

"So, Don Thorne, Finn has briefed me on the predicament you’ve found yourself entangled in," Dr. Taylor began, his tone carrying both professional authority and genuine concern.

I released a bitter laugh that held no humor. "Professor, I never imagined that one night of compromised judgment could transform my entire existence into a waking nightmare. I’ve sworn off alcohol completely now, following Finn’s example and my own hard-learned lesson."

Dr. Taylor’s chuckle was warm and genuine. "A wise decision, my young friend. Excess of any kind wreaks havoc on both body and mind, and alcohol in particular can lead to catastrophic consequences in our line of work. Now, if you’ll permit my directness, Finn mentioned that you have absolutely no recollection of the events from that particular evening?"

The admission still burned like acid in my throat. "Practically nothing, doctor. My last clear memory is having a whisky on the private balcony of our family’s social club. Everything after that point is a complete void, as if someone erased hours from my mind."

"When you consumed that whisky, did you notice anything unusual about your physical response?" Dr. Taylor leaned forward, his medical instincts clearly engaged.

I thought back to that cursed night, trying to piece together the fragments that remained. "I had only been at our family gathering for a short time and hadn’t consumed much alcohol. But I had been drinking heavily the previous evening during territory negotiations, so I assumed my tolerance was compromised."

"Have you considered the possibility that someone may have introduced foreign substances into your drink?" The question struck me like lightning, illuminating possibilities I had been too proud to consider.

My immediate reaction was denial born of wounded pride. "But this was our family’s private function, held in our most secure location. Who would dare attempt such a thing?"

"I’ve witnessed similar situations occur even at the most trusted family gatherings, Don Thorne," Dr. Taylor shared, his experience evident in every measured word. "A comprehensive toxicology screening could provide the answers you seek."

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