Chapter 2 - THE POISON AND THE PICTURE
Four guns pointed at a waitress in a stained apron.
Maeve did not run. She did not flinch. She kept her grip on the bride’s wrist, holding the tiny glass vial high into the chandelier light.
"She put poison in the pasta," Maeve repeated, her voice cutting through the stunned silence of the private dining room.
Sienna shrieked, her flawless face dripping with marinara and truffle butter. "She’s insane! Cian, shoot her! She just attacked me!"
The room held its breath. The four bodyguards kept their fingers on their triggers, waiting for the quiet man at the head of the table to nod.
Cian Callaway didn't nod. He didn't yell. He stood up slowly, the silver band on his left hand catching the light. He walked around the long table. His footsteps were the only sound in Fiorenza.
He stopped in front of Maeve. He looked at the waitress—really looked at her. He saw the frayed collar of her cheap black shirt. He saw the absolute lack of fear in her dark eyes. Then, he looked at his beautiful, trembling fiancée.
"Let her go," Cian said softly.
Maeve released Sienna’s wrist. Sienna instantly collapsed against Cian’s chest, sobbing theatrically. "Oh, my god, Cian. The staff here—"
Cian gently pushed Sienna back by her shoulders. He reached out and plucked the tiny glass vial from Maeve’s hand. He unscrewed the silver cap.
He brought it close to his nose.
A faint, sharp scent of bitter almonds drifted into the air.
Cyanide.
Cian’s eyes hardened. He looked at Sienna. "You wanted to serve me yourself."
Sienna stepped back, her face pale beneath the sauce. "Cian, no. She planted it! The waitress planted it when she grabbed me!"
A ripple of murmurs swept through the forty guests.
"Who sent you?" Cian asked, his voice directed at Maeve. His tone was cold, calculating. "You just saved my life. Why?"
"I didn't do it for you," Maeve said, her voice shaking but her chin held high. She reached into her apron pocket.
The bodyguards raised their weapons higher.
"Stand down," Cian commanded without looking at them.
Maeve pulled out a tarnished brass lighter. It was heavy, engraved with a coiled snake.
Cian’s breath hitched. That lighter belonged to Julian Russo—his biggest rival on the waterfront. A man who had sworn to end the Callaway bloodline.
"I saw her drop this in the hallway near the restrooms ten minutes ago," Maeve said, pointing a trembling finger at Sienna. "But that’s not why I stopped her."
Maeve flicked the lighter open. There was no flame. Instead, tucked inside the hollow casing, was a tiny, crumpled photograph. She handed it to Cian.
Cian unfolded the paper. His heart stopped.
May you like
It was a picture of a six-year-old boy with messy brown hair and familiar gray eyes. Across the boy’s forehead, someone had drawn a red X in permanent marker.
"That’s my son," Maeve whispered, a tear finally breaking free. "She told me if I warned you, he would die tonight."
