Chapter 4 - A Poisoned Dinner and a Broken Glass
Julianna Vance turned around with an elegant smile when the bedroom door opened. She was dressed in an ivory silk slip that fell to her ankles, holding a crystal tumbler of Macallan 18 in one manicured hand. The room smelled of expensive tuberose perfume and rain drifting through a cracked terrace window.
"Dante, darling," she breathed, gliding toward him with theatrical grace. "You're back so late. I was terrified. The news said there was an incident near the Loop — some shooting outside a steakhouse. I tried calling your phone three times."
Dante stood motionless, letting her approach. Her skin was flawless, her makeup delicate, her posture that of a socialite who had never seen a bullet wound in her life. It was a masterpiece of deception.
"My battery died," Dante said evenly. He did not step forward to embrace her.
Julianna didn't seem to notice the chill in his posture. She reached up, placing a hand on his chest right over his shoulder holster. Her touch was warm, but to Dante, it felt like the cold slither of a viper.
"You look exhausted, my love," she purred, looking up into his dark eyes. "Sit down. I had the kitchen leave out some cold roast beef, and I poured your favorite scotch. Drink it. You need to sleep."
She turned toward the nightstand and picked up the second crystal glass. She had already added two large ice spheres. She handed it to him, her blue eyes gleaming with an intensity that had never caught his attention before.
Dante looked down at the amber liquid. Swirling beneath the surface, tiny silver bubbles clung stubbornly to the bottom of the crystal — unnatural, uncharacteristic of twenty-year-old malt whisky.
"A toast, then," Dante said.
"To what?" Julianna smiled, raising her glass.
"To loyalty," Dante replied softly. "And to secrets kept in the dark."
Julianna’s smile flickered for a fraction of a second, but she recovered instantly. "To us, Dante. Always."
Dante raised the glass toward his lips. Julianna’s breathing hitched; her shoulders drew tight, anticipating the moment the liquid crossed his tongue. Just as the glass touched his lower lip, Dante stopped. He looked past her shoulder toward the en-suite bathroom door.
"Did you hear that?" Dante asked sharply.
Julianna startled, spilling a few drops of her own drink onto the hardwood. "Hear what? There's nothing out there, Dante. Just the wind."
"Footsteps in the hall," Dante said, his voice dropping into command mode. He set the glass down on the mahogany dresser beside him with an intentional, heavy clatter. "Stay here."
He walked briskly into the en-suite bathroom, shutting the door behind him. The bathroom was bathed in soft moonlight reflecting through the skylight. Dante didn't hesitate. He crossed straight to the large wicker basket tucked beneath the double marble vanity, just as little Sophie had instructed.
He pushed aside the decorative lavender-scented soaps wrapped in tissue paper. Beneath them, nestled inside a velvet pouch meant for jewelry, sat a cheap, prepaid burner phone.
Dante pulled it out. The screen lit up in the dark. There were seven unread text messages from a contact labeled simply as M.
The latest message, sent eleven minutes ago, read:
Did the bastard drink it yet? Marco’s van is two blocks out. Unlock the service entrance.
Dante stared at the illuminated screen. Every word Sophie had spoken was verified. Every crayon scribble in her crumpled notebook was an exact transcription of treason. The woman he had shared his bed with was not just a spy; she was an assassin clearing the path for Vitelli's scavengers.
He tucked the burner phone into his coat pocket. Then he picked up Julianna's bottle of high-end perfume from the marble counter, popped the decorative glass stopper off, and poured three drops of the amber scotch he had brought in his pocket into the perfume bottle to test it. The alcohol immediately turned milky white.
Digitalis. A cardiac paralytic. Fast, undetectable to an untrained coroner, mimicking a massive stress-induced heart attack.
Dante opened the bathroom door. Julianna was standing right where he had left her, holding her untouched drink, her knuckles white around the glass.
"Everything alright?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly with anxiety.
"Everything is perfectly clear," Dante said. He walked over, grabbed the glass he had left on the dresser, and casually turned it upside down, dumping the poisoned scotch onto the pristine Persian rug.
May you like
Julianna gasped, stepping back. "Dante! What are you doing?"
"Saving your soul the burden of murder," Dante said, stepping closer until his shadow completely swallowed her. "And saving Marco Vitelli the trouble of waiting outside."
