POISON IN THE CRYSTAL

Victor’s words hung in the air, heavier than the crystal chandeliers.

Buried inside my dead wife's casket.

Chloe’s breath hitched. She tightened her arms around Leo, who was still trembling against her chest. To rob a grave was one thing. To rob the grave of a mafia boss’s murdered wife, retrieve a priceless heirloom, and use it to crush the poison meant to kill her only child? It was a level of psychological warfare that defied human comprehension.

"Victor, listen to me," Seraphina stammered, the color finally draining from her flawless face. The diamond necklace around her throat fluttered with her erratic pulse. "I swear to God, I didn't know whose it was. Your Consigliere, Marcus... he gave it to me! He told me it was a family antique to give Leo for his birthday!"

From the shadows near the grand staircase, Marcus stepped forward. He was a tall, lean man in his fifties, with silver hair and eyes as cold as a frozen lake. He had been Victor’s right-hand man for twenty years.

"She is lying, Victor," Marcus said smoothly, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. "I haven't spoken to Seraphina alone all evening. She's panicking. She got caught trying to remove the only obstacle between her and total control of your estate."

Seraphina let out an unhinged scream, lunging toward Marcus, but two of Victor’s bodyguards grabbed her arms, pinning her back.

"You set me up!" Seraphina shrieked, the beautiful mask entirely shattered. "My father will burn Chicago to the ground if you touch me, Victor! You need this marriage! You need the Russian supply lines!"

Victor didn't look at her. He kept his eyes fixed on the silver watch, his thumb tracing the white powder caked inside the gears. The man looked as though a ghost had just walked into the ballroom.

"Clear the room," Victor ordered quietly.

Within seconds, the bodyguards began ushering the three hundred guests toward the heavy oak doors. No one complained. No one asked for their coats. They moved with the terrified urgency of people escaping a burning building.

When the room was empty save for Victor, Marcus, Seraphina, and Chloe, Victor finally looked down.

Chloe was still on the floor, her tights ruined, her arms wrapped around his son. Leo hadn't moved.

"Get up," Victor said, his tone devoid of the rage he had shown Seraphina.

Chloe scrambled to her feet, lifting Leo into her arms. He was surprisingly heavy, but adrenaline fueled her muscles. She refused to let him go.

"Take the boy to the East Wing guest suite," Victor told Marcus. "Lock them inside. Put four men on the door. No one enters. Not even you."

"Victor, we need to handle the syndicate—" Marcus started.

"I said, lock them in," Victor snarled, his eyes flashing with a sudden, violent dominance.

Marcus bowed his head. "Yes, Boss."

As Chloe carried Leo toward the grand staircase, she glanced back. Victor was standing over a sobbing Seraphina, the silver watch clutched in his fist.

The East Wing suite was a gilded cage. Massive mahogany doors, velvet curtains, and a lock that clicked shut with terrifying finality. Chloe sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, rocking Leo gently. She hummed a soft, wordless lullaby, the same one she used to sing to her younger sister. Slowly, the rigid tension in Leo’s small body began to melt.

For the first time all night, Leo pulled his face away from her shoulder. His dark eyes—so much like his father's, yet entirely innocent—stared up at her.

Chloe reached out and gently brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead. "You're safe, sweet boy. I promise you. I won't let anything happen to you."

Leo stared at her mouth. He reached his small hand into the pocket of his tiny tuxedo jacket. He pulled out something small, wrapped in a linen napkin, and pressed it into Chloe's palm.

Chloe frowned. She unfolded the napkin.

It was a small, golden key. The kind that belonged to a diary or a jewelry box.

"Where did you get this, Leo?" she whispered.

Leo didn't just look at the key. He looked at the heavy oak door. Then, he looked back at Chloe. His throat bobbed. He opened his mouth.