Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Cup
By eight in the morning, the dining room of the Moretti estate gleamed with silver platters, fresh porcelain, and the aroma of roasted espresso. Carlo Rossi sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, buttering a slice of sourdough with calm, practiced ease. Across from him sat Dante, reading the morning paper as if the world were turning on its usual axis.
"You look tired, Dante," Carlo remarked smoothly, sipping his black coffee. "Marcus told me there was a minor glitch on the perimeter cameras around four this morning. Some server glitch from the storm. You shouldn't waste your sleep on minor technical bugs. That’s what the tech boys are for."
Dante slowly lowered the paper, folding it with deliberate precision. "You know how I am, Carlo. When a machine stumbles, it usually means a human tripped over the wire."
Carlo chuckled, though his eyes remained watchful. "Always vigilant. That’s why you’re the boss. By the way, the downtown transport is on schedule for eleven-thirty. I personally checked the route. Clean as a whistle. We’ll have the cash reserves locked in the high-security vault before the banks close for the weekend."
"Did you check the feeds yourself?" Dante asked casually, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Of course," Carlo replied without missing a beat. "Corridors are clear. All cameras online."
Dante leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and linking his fingers together. "That’s strange, Carlo. Because Lily Hayes was sitting in my control chair at four-fifteen this morning. She told me the cameras were lying. She pointed out that the cleaning woman on the restaurant feed was walking the same ten feet over and over again, like an actor waiting for her cue."
Carlo’s hand froze for a fraction of a second over his plate. The silver butter knife clicked against the porcelain. He forced an easy smile, though a faint twitch betrayed the corner of his left eye. "Evan’s kid? Dante, you’re letting a traumatized child get inside your head? The girl probably hallucinated it. The servers had a cache lag."
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"She didn't hallucinate her father's innocence," Dante whispered, the volume of his voice so low it rattled the glassware. "Evan never swung his right arm when he ran, Carlo. But the man in your fake tape did. And you know who does swing his right arm like a drilled marine? Your personal driver, Tommy Vane."
The color drained from Carlo’s face like water down a storm drain. He reached instinctively toward his inner jacket pocket, but the sharp, metallic snap of half a dozen safety catches clicking off behind him froze him in place. Marcus and four heavily armed guards stepped out from the curtained alcoves, their weapons leveled squarely at Carlo's chest.
