Chapter 972 Carry Her Home
The incessant chatter in her ear was driving her mad! Saskia desperately craved sleep, but Dennis's voice cut through her drowsiness with savage intensity. "What the hell did you do to her? No one's talking? Fine. We'll carve them up piece by piece—let them suffer for days before we finish them off."
Even in her stupor, Saskia recoiled at his brutality. What kind of monster was this man?
As Dennis prepared to carry her away, one assassin finally cracked under the pressure. "It was a sleep dart."
They couldn't fathom why Dennis had become so unhinged over one woman.
"Anyone who inhales it will sleep for ten hours... that's all," the assassin continued, glancing nervously at the girl in Dennis's arms. She was probably still conscious because Dennis's shouting had been too loud for the sedative to take full effect.
A sleep dart? Just to make someone drowse? That was it?
Dennis felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him—had he completely lost his composure over nothing? Still, seeing the small cut on Saskia's forehead, he decided to take her back to Long Island Manor, unwilling to take any chances.
"Yes, Mrs. Fuller, Saskia is resting here with me. She'll be home first thing tomorrow morning. Thank you, Mrs. Fuller. Please get some rest—good night." Abella ended the call with Saskia's mother and turned to Dennis, who stood nearby looking relieved.
During the conversation, Abella had carefully omitted any mention of the attack, simply explaining that she and Saskia hadn't seen each other in ages and wanted to spend the night catching up at the Medici estate. Saskia's mother had graciously agreed.
"Thank you, Abella," Dennis exhaled, visibly relaxed. His reasons for bringing Saskia here had been threefold: first, he needed Abella to examine her for any hidden injuries; second, he barely knew Saskia and couldn't explain her wound to her family without causing alarm; and third, he feared more assassins might be hunting her—the estate offered better protection.
"Dennis, your... consideration is quite thorough," Abella replied diplomatically, choosing not to voice her suspicions about his true motivations.
Her gaze shifted to the unconscious figure on the sofa. "Let's get her to a guest room. I'll change her clothes, check for other injuries, and treat that cut on her forehead."
At least they could confirm it was merely a standard sleep dart with no lasting effects.
"I'll carry her," Dennis immediately stepped forward, lifting Saskia with surprising gentleness.
Beckett and Kimberly exchanged knowing glances, their faces breaking into meaningful smiles as they watched the scene unfold.
Dennis carefully placed Saskia on the guest room bed before turning to Abella. "I appreciate this."
"She's my friend—it's no trouble at all." Abella noted Dennis's reluctance to leave and smiled knowingly. "Is there something else you need?"
"Let me fetch the medical kit for you."
"I have my own supplies."
"Then I'll bring warm water."
"That's unnecessary."
"Perhaps I should have the kitchen prepare some late-night refreshments... you've had an exhausting day." Dennis's eyes kept drifting back to the bed.
"Dennis, please don't worry. I'll examine her thoroughly and report everything to you, regardless of what I find." Abella's steady gaze held his. "And I promise to be gentle."
"I have complete faith in your medical expertise." Dennis finally conceded, closing the door behind him as he left.
He remembered how Saskia had mumbled something about "flowers... in the car..." while semi-conscious in his arms. He'd discovered two potted plants in her vehicle but had been too focused on getting her inside to retrieve them. Now, as he examined the flowers more closely, he wondered what made them so special that Saskia had thought of them even in her weakened state.
The soil had spilled everywhere—would they survive? How should he care for them? The plants looked oddly familiar.
Summoning an experienced groundskeeper, Dennis inquired about transplanting the flowers to the garden or whether they required special soil.
The servant examined the pots with confusion. "Sir, these are the same flowers Ms. Medici dug up from our garden for Ms. Fuller to take home. I personally placed them in her car... How did they end up back in your possession? Did Ms. Fuller forget them?"
"These are from our estate?" Dennis asked, surprised.
"Yes, sir. Ms. Medici had me provide the empty pots, and I watched her transplant these flowers from our garden with fresh soil."
Understanding dawned on Dennis—for Saskia, the flowers weren't valuable in themselves, but represented her deep friendship with Abella.
"You may go," he dismissed the servant.
"Yes, Mr. Medici."
After the groundskeeper left, Dennis personally gathered fresh soil from the garden and carefully repotted the meaningful plants, ensuring their survival.
A message from Abella confirmed that Saskia was unharmed except for the minor forehead wound. Dennis's tension finally eased. "I've had the kitchen prepare some food. You should eat something after such a long day."
"I still have matters to attend to. Please go ahead without me," Abella replied while heading downstairs to meet Winston for their planned visit to the basement.
The underground chamber reeked of blood and despair, its dim lighting casting ominous shadows over the battered assassins. The atmosphere felt apocalyptic.
Abella approached the prisoners with cold authority. "Ready to talk now?"
"We've told you everything we know." one assassin wheezed, barely clinging to consciousness. "What more do you want from us?"
"Tell me about the sedative you used," Abella demanded icily. "Jacob lacks the sophistication to create something so potent."
Whether he understood pharmaceuticals was irrelevant—producing such a powerful compound required expertise far beyond his capabilities.
Another assassin answered truthfully, "It's one of Mr. Flores's prized possessions. We've only used it once before in extreme circumstances. We have no idea where he acquired it."
They only knew Jacob hoarded it carefully, keeping limited quantities.
"Do you have an antidote?"
"Yes, but we used the last of it tonight. We came prepared to rescue Mr. Flores at any cost. We just never expected total annihilation."
As Abella prepared her next question, a weak, exhausted cough echoed through the chamber. The assassins froze, uncertain they'd heard correctly.
The coughing resumed, faint but unmistakable—Jacob's voice resonating through the air. The prisoners' eyes widened in shock.
Jacob was alive? He had survived?
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