Chapter 4 - A Taste of Poison
The DeLuca ancestral estate sat on twenty heavily wooded acres along the shores of Lake Michigan in Lake Forest. Surrounded by high stone walls, wrought-iron gates, and armed patrols disguised as private groundskeepers, it was a sanctuary carved out of wealth and blood.
Margot was given a sprawling guest suite overlooking the manicured rose gardens. The closet had been stocked with silk loungewear, tailored trousers, and soft cashmere sweaters—all tailored precisely to her measurements without a single piece designed to hide or shrink her silhouette.
When she descended the grand spiral staircase the following morning, she found Cassian seated at the head of a massive breakfast table. Sunlight poured through French doors, illuminating the silverware and fresh porcelain.
“Good morning, Margot,” Cassian greeted her, standing up as she entered the room. His gaze swept over her navy silk blouse and dark trousers with evident admiration. “Sleep well?”
“Surprisingly well for someone who narrowly avoided an assassination attempt,” she said, taking a seat two chairs away from him.
A liveried server immediately placed a delicate porcelain cup of freshly brewed black coffee before her, along with a plate of fresh pastries and fruit. Cassian’s personal butler, an older Italian man named Roberto whose family had served the DeLucas for three generations, poured Cassian’s tea with practiced elegance.
“Raymond slipped through the perimeter last night,” Cassian admitted, his jaw tightening. “He abandoned the vehicle and went underground. But your data gave us the account numbers of his off-shore staging funds. We froze seventeen million dollars this morning.”
“He will be desperate,” Margot warned, reaching for her coffee cup. “A man like Raymond, accustomed to luxury and untouchable status, will act erratically when his resources vanish.”
She lifted the cup to her lips, inhaling the aroma. Suddenly, her brow furrowed.
Her father had worked in precision machining, and she had spent her childhood around various chemical solvents and cutting lubricants. Beneath the rich, roasted scent of the dark Colombian roast, her keen senses picked up a faint, sickly-sweet undertone resembling bitter almonds.
Margot froze. She set the cup down without taking a sip.
Cassian noticed instantly. “What is it? Is the blend not to your liking?”
Margot didn't answer. She took a silver spoon, dipped it into the dark liquid, and brought it to her nose. She looked up at Roberto, who stood motionless near the sideboard, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes darting subtly toward the exit.
“Potassium cyanide has a subtle almond scent,” Margot said clearly, her voice cutting through the peaceful morning silence like a razor. “Most people don't notice it over the acidity of dark roast coffee.”
Cassian’s face transformed instantly into a mask of pure, murderous rage. He stood up slowly, the silverware rattling against the table under the sudden tension.
“Roberto,” Cassian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Drink the coffee.”
The old butler’s knees buckled. He fell to his knees on the Persian rug, trembling violently. “Mr. DeLuca! Please! They have my granddaughter in Naples! Raymond promised she would be returned unharmed if I put the powder in her cup!”
“In her cup?” Cassian roared, stepping around the table like a tempest. “Raymond targeted her?”
“He knew!” Roberto wept, pressing his face to the floor. “He knew she was the one unraveling the books! He said if she died, your empire would crumble from the inside!”
Cassian grabbed Roberto by the collar, hauling the weeping man to his feet with terrifying ease. He turned to Dante, who had entered the room with weapon drawn. “Secure him in the wine cellar. Trace every communication to his granddaughter in Naples. If a single hair on that child's head is harmed, Raymond Forti will burn in hell.”
When the room cleared, Cassian turned to Margot. The terrifying fury vanished from his face, replaced by a raw, desperate panic. He crossed the room in two strides, falling to his knees beside her chair. He took her hands in his, checking her frantically, his breath ragged.
“Did you drink any? Tell me you didn't taste it,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion he couldn't conceal.
“I didn't drink it, Cassian,” she said softly, stunned by the sight of this untouchable mob king kneeling before her, trembling at the thought of her harm. “I'm fine.”
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Cassian pressed her knuckles against his forehead, closing his eyes as a shudder racked his frame. “I brought you into this fire. If I lost you because of my arrogance, I would never forgive myself.”
Margot looked down at him, her heart softening in a way she had guarded against for fifteen years. For the first time, she saw not the mafia boss, but a man who had finally found his equal—and was terrified of losing her.
