Chapter 3 - The Silver Knife
"Move a single muscle and your brains will decorate that chandelier," Lorenzo snarled against my ear, the steel barrel bruising my temple.
The dining room erupted into chaotic screams as wealthy patrons dove under tables, knocking chairs and silver flatware across the floor.
Dante did not flinch, nor did he jump back to wipe the crimson wine dripping from his ruined designer shirt.
He sat motionless in the deep curve of the booth, staring at the shattered crystal fragments glittering on the floor beside his shoes.
Slowly, he lifted his eyes, his dark obsidian pupils burning with an icy, terrifying calm that made the air feel twenty degrees colder.
"Explain yourself, Eleanor," he said softly, each word clipped, deliberate, and devoid of fear.
"Before I permit Lorenzo to pull that trigger."
"The wine... is poisoned," I gasped, my knees trembling so violently they threatened to buckle beneath my starched skirt.
"She’s lying, boss!" Silvio barked, pressing his Glock harder against the back of my neck.
"She’s an operative sent by Moretti to create a distraction! Let me put a round through her head right now!"
"Quiet, Silvio," Dante commanded, his voice never rising above a calm, chilling whisper.
He extended his right hand toward the table, picking up a heavy, polished sterling silver butter knife.
He dipped the tip of the solid silver blade into the dark pool of spilled Brunello pooling on the white linen tablecloth.
For three agonizing seconds, nothing happened except the frantic sound of patrons scrambling out the front doors into the street.
Then, a hideous, bubbling hiss rose from the fabric.
The polished, mirror-like silver of the butter knife began to blacken, corroding into an ugly, pitted charcoal within the puddle of wine.
A faint, acrid wisp of white smoke curled upward, smelling strongly of bitter crushed almonds and burnt copper.
Lorenzo’s jaw slacked in disbelief, his eyes darting from the corroded silver knife to the spilled wine at his employer's feet.
"Aconite," Dante murmured, his voice dropping into a deadly, subterranean register.
"Mixed with industrial potassium cyanide. Three drops on the tongue would have paralyzed my diaphragm within ninety seconds."
Silvio lowered his weapon slightly, his face draining of color as he looked at the bottle still resting in the silver serving basket.
"I... I picked that bottle up directly from the kitchen pass, boss," Silvio stammered, sweat breaking out across his forehead.
"Marco handed it over himself!"
"No, he didn't!" I blurted out, my voice cracking under the lingering surge of adrenaline.
"Marco wasn't down there! A stranger in a new apron tampered with the cork using a syringe and a butane torch!"
"He went out the rear alley exit less than two minutes ago!"
Dante stood up from the booth, towering over the table with an imposing, lethal grace that commanded the ruined dining room.
"Lorenzo, search the basement cellar immediately," Dante ordered, buttoning his jacket over the blood-red wine stain.
"Find Marco. Silvio, take the back alley. Bring that courier to me alive if possible, in pieces if necessary."
"Yes, boss!" both guards barked, sprinting in opposite directions with weapons drawn.
The restaurant was completely deserted now, save for the terrified manager hiding behind the cashier podium and Dante Russo.
He took two slow steps toward me, closing the distance until I was enveloped by the scent of expensive sandalwood and crisp tobacco.
He reached out with a gloved hand, gently catching my chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting my face toward the chandelier.
His touch was surprisingly warm against my chilled, clammy skin, but his dark gaze was an abyss of calculating intensity.
"You knew my name, you knew my reputation, and you knew my men would pull their weapons without hesitation," he murmured.
"Yet you threw your body between me and a glass of poison anyway."
"I didn't do it for you," I whispered, refusing to look away from his piercing eyes despite the terror clawing at my throat.
"I did it because I won't watch a man get slaughtered like an animal while I stand by holding a towel."
A slow, dangerous smile curved the edge of Dante's mouth, softening the harsh, predatory angles of his sculpted face.
"An honorable dock girl," he said quietly, his thumb tracing the faint scar running above my right eyebrow.
"Just like your father."
My heart stopped dead in my chest, a cold shock wave rippling through every nerve ending in my body.
"What... what did you just say?" I breathed, my hands trembling against the sides of my apron.
Before he could answer, the kitchen double doors banged open, and Lorenzo stumbled out, his charcoal suit smeared with grease.
His face was pale as chalk, his breathing ragged and uneven.
"Boss," Lorenzo called out, his voice shaking with rare panic.
"Marco is in the walk-in cooler. His throat was cut twenty minutes ago."
"And Moretti's cleanup crew just set fire to the delivery van parked across the street."
Dante did not drop his gaze from mine; his fingers tightened slightly on my chin before releasing me with deliberate slowness.
"The hit was coordinated from the top," Dante said, his voice flat and deadly as an executioner's blade.
May you like
"They know Eleanor spoiled the contract."
"Which means before the sun rises tomorrow, Salvatore Moretti will burn down everything and everyone she has ever loved."
