Chapter 2

My father couldn't refuse the toast in front of the eight families. Luca had turned it into a test of whether the truce would hold. Whoever refused first would give the other side an excuse.

I reached out and knocked over my water glass. It hit the floor with a crack. Nico spun around, and my father paused too. But I didn't have time to finish signing my warning. The rim of the glass was already touching his lips.

He took a single sip, and the color drained from his face.

By the time his glass hit the floor, Nico was already running over from the first-aid station. My father grabbed the edge of the table as if he were still trying to stay upright, but his knees gave out. I ran over and helped Nico lay him flat. His breathing was short and shallow. His right hand was so stiff he couldn't curl his fingers.

"Call an ambulance," Nico said.

He pressed an oxygen mask over my father's face and told the hotel nurse to clear some space. I reached for a spare blanket and only then realized my fingers were shaking. My father's eyes were open, but he couldn't focus on my face. I touched the back of his hand. He didn't respond. A minute earlier, he'd been holding the pen he was about to sign with.

"No need." Luca's physician, Dr. Adrian Cole, knelt on my father's other side and held up a stethoscope. "His heart has always been weak. I brought medication."

Nico looked up. "And who are you?"

"The man in charge of everyone's safety tonight," Luca answered for him.

The doors shut behind us. Two waiters were shoved away from the entrance, and Luca's men replaced the hotel security guards. Someone pulled out a phone. There was still a signal, but every exit was already guarded.

I pointed at the wineglass, then at my father's throat, trying to tell Nico it was poison. Adrian pushed my hand aside. "Out of the way."

Nico didn't move. He kept the oxygen going and called out my father's vital signs, his hands as steady as if he were in his own ER. Only I noticed how hard he was holding himself together. The tendons in his wrist stood out beneath his cuff.

Then the screen lit up.

The screen had been showing photos of the Moretti Foundation Medical Center. Now it was filled with screenshots of a conversation. Gianna's name was circled in red. She'd been messaging Owen Mercer, a pharmacist. The payment had come from the foundation account she managed, and a few scattered lines mentioned "the gala," "Dad's wine," and "before tonight."

The ballroom went so quiet that the sound of Nico squeezing the oxygen bag filled the silence.

Gianna froze when she saw the amount. She really had approved that payment. She didn't pretend she knew nothing or try to blame her staff.

The Gianna I knew would spend hours tracking down a single missing receipt in the foundation's books. There was no way she'd forgotten one of her own payments.

But I couldn't see the lines that had been cut out. I could only see what Luca had chosen to show us.

"She bought the drug before the inheritance papers were signed," Luca said. "And Don Moretti collapsed after drinking the wine."

Gianna stood, her chair scraping across the carpet. "I did make that payment. But I was asking about medication for Evelyn. Sometimes she has trouble breathing in crowds, and I wanted to know if she could get a prescription for something short-acting. I mentioned the wine because I wanted to know if the medication was safe to take with alcohol."

Luca looked at her. "Proof?"

She unlocked her phone and handed it to Matteo. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she didn't take it back. Matteo scanned it and frowned. "These screenshots are incomplete. I want the original messages and the payment records."

"Fine," Luca said. "As long as Gianna comes with us."

The representatives of the eight families started talking over one another. Some wanted the wine tested first. Others wanted Gianna detained first. No one stood up for my father, and no one wanted to be the first to turn on Luca.

Lorenzo drew his gun. At the same moment, Dante pressed a hand to his earpiece, and his face darkened. He quietly told Lorenzo that Luca's men had taken over security outside. Our people still controlled the ballroom, but nothing beyond it. Lorenzo kept his gun trained on the door.

Suddenly, my father grabbed Lorenzo by the pant leg.

"Put it... down." My father forced the words out. He glanced at a nurse from the medical center who was hiding behind a pillar. Lorenzo followed his gaze and finally, slowly, lowered the gun.

My mother made her way through the crowd of guests. She put one arm around Gianna and rested her other hand on my shoulder. She looked at Luca, and her voice remained steady. "If you think she's a suspect, give the complete records to the police. Nobody is taking her away from me tonight."

Luca looked as though that was exactly what he'd been waiting to hear. He ordered someone to set a document on the head table.

"Ten minutes. Hand her over or hand over the port. You have to pick one."

A countdown appeared along the bottom of the screen. The first minute ticked by, and no one touched the document. Lorenzo kept his hand on his gun. Matteo wrote down the projector's model number. Dante silently counted the men guarding the doors. Every time my father's breathing grew shallower, it became clearer that Luca had already made the choice for us.