CHAPTER NINETEEN
The dressing room minor reflected a woman Aria barely recognized. Herblackconcert dress hung perfectly, each fold deliberate, like the creases in a musical score.
On her vanity, nestled between tubes of lipstick and bobby pins, sat a small blue bottle, Marcus’s private collection had yielded one final gift – a rare poison that would work like a dimimiendo, fading slowly, gracefully.
She touched up her lipstick, Russian Red. Sofia had wom the same shade the night of her fall.
A knock at the door made her hand jerk, leaving a crimson streak across her cheek. “Fifteen minutes to places, Tom called out
She wiped the streak away with practiced precision. The woman in the minor smiled–perfect, porcelain, poisonous.
The blue bottle felt cool against her palm. She’d researched extensively two hours for full effect, no pain, just a gradual slowing. Like a heart finding its final rest after a crescendo.
Her hands didn’t shake as she measured the dose into her water glass. They never shook during performances
Another knock. “Ten minutes, Ms. Martinelli Caroline this time. “The house is packed. Even the standing room is sold out.”
Perfect. They would all be there to witness her finale.
She raised the glass, catching her reflection one last time. “To you, Marcus,” she whispered. “And to you, Sofia, Front row seats to the end.”
The liquid tasted of almonds and regret, she inixed it with actual water, checking her teeth for stains. No evidence. She was good at that now,
Her phone lit up text from Michael “Orchestra’s ready, we’re with you.”
Poor Michael, so loyal. He’d find her letter tomorrow, explaining everything. Well, almost everything.
She pulled on her conducting gloves, the same ones she’d wom the night Marcus died. The leather felt like a second skin, comfortable with its secrets. The symphony score lay open on her desk, its pages crisp and white, She’d titled it “Requiem for the Living” – her confession written in sharps and flats. Through the walls, she could hear the audience settling in. The familiar rustle of programs, the soft murmur of anticipation. One last performance. “Five minutes!”
She stood, smoothing her dress. The poison sat cold in her stomach, a frozen note waiting to be played.
In her purse, the video confession waited on a USB drive, set to automatically email to Detective Killian at midnight. by then, she’d be-
A commotion in the hallway caught her attention. Multiple voices, heavy footsteps.
She cracked open her door. Detective Killian stood at the end of the hall, uniformed officers behind him. One held a piece of paper that could only be a warrant… Her pulse quickened, but not from fear, Everything was proceeding exactly as written.
She closed the door quietly, checking her appearance one final time. The poison would take two hours to reach her heart. The symphony was ninety minutes. Perfect timing, as always
Through her dressing mom window, she could see the front row, David sat directly in the center, his face pale under the house lights. He’d lost weight since Sofia’s death Quilt did that to people – she knew firsthand.
“Places!” The stage manager’s voice echoed through the hall.
Aria gathered her score, hermovements deliberate and unhurried. The first hints of numbness tingled in her fingertips–right on schedule.
In the hallway, Killian and his officers had been stopped by the house manager. “You cannot interrupt a performance,” she heard him insist. “It’s against venue policy.”
She smiled. She’d had that policy changed specifically for conight.
The stage door loomed before her, its black paint scratched from years of use. How many performers had stood here, hearts racing before their debut?
But this wasn’t stage fright coursing through her veins. This was justice, or vengeance, or maybe just the final movement of a symphony that had begun twenty years ago withher mother’s deali
The house lights dimmed. Her cue
Acia stepped onto the stage, the poison singing softly in her blood, her smile radiant under the spotlights. The audience erupted in applause, unaware they were witnessing a finale in more ways than one.
She caught David’s eye as she took her place at the podium. He half–rose f
was already dancing through her veins, keeping perfect time.
from his seat, but what could he do? Stop
p the performance? Call out a warning? The poison
In the wings, she spotted Killian, warrant in hand, forced to wait, To watch To witness.
Ania raised herbaton. The orchestra sat ready, shady musicians poised to play the requiem she’d written for herself.
The poison whispered promises of peace as she brought her arms down for the first note.
