Chapter 2 - THE POISONED VEIN
The cold water from the ceiling sprinklers soaked through Luca’s custom wool suit, but the chill was nothing compared to the ice spreading through his veins.
His knees hit the wet tile of the kitchen floor.
A sharp, metallic taste flooded his mouth. He looked up, his vision blurring at the edges.
Vincent, the man he had trusted with his life for a decade, stood perfectly still amidst the downpour, holding the empty wineglass.
“Three minutes,” Vincent repeated, his voice barely carrying over the shrill scream of the fire alarm. “That’s how long it takes for the neurotoxin to paralyze the diaphragm. You won’t even be able to draw your last breath, Luca.”
Luca forced his head to turn. His older brother, Marco. A ghost in the flesh. The man holding the waitress hostage.
“Why?” Luca choked out, his hand clutching his ribs where the needle had pierced him. “I mourned you. I buried an empty casket for you.”
Marco’s face twisted with a rage that had marinated in the dark for fifteen years. “You buried me because it was convenient, little brother. Because our father’s empire couldn't have two kings.”
“I didn't order the hit,” Luca gasped, struggling to raise his gun. His wrist felt like it was made of lead.
Marco laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “Don't lie. Not on your deathbed. Vincent showed me the wire transfers. He showed me the orders with your signature.”
The waitress—her dark hair plastered to her face, her eyes wide with terror—suddenly stopped trembling. The panic in her posture vanished, replaced by a terrifying, cold resolve.
She didn't scream. She didn't beg.
Instead, she slammed her heel backward, connecting with sickening force against Marco’s shattered left kneecap—an injury from the very night he supposedly died.
Marco roared in pain, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.
It was all she needed.
She twisted out of his hold, grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet from the prep counter, and swung it hard into the electrical panel on the wall.
Sparks showered the wet kitchen. Then, pitch black darkness.
“Move!” her voice hissed in the dark, grabbing Luca by his collar.
Luca tried to stand, but his legs were giving way. The poison was moving faster. He felt her shoulder slide under his arm, bearing his weight.
“Shoot them!” Vincent’s voice echoed in the dark. Gunfire erupted, muzzle flashes illuminating the stainless steel appliances like lightning.
Bullets pinged off the stovetops. Luca fired blindly behind him, buying them a second. The waitress dragged him through the heavy metal fire exit door, kicking it open into the rain-slicked alleyway.
The cold night air hit Luca like a physical blow. He stumbled against the brick wall, coughing violently. Blood flecked his lips.
“We have to keep moving,” she urged, her breathing heavy. She was searching his pockets, her hands frantic. “Where are your keys? Which car?”
“Black SUV... end of the lot,” Luca wheezed. “Who... who are you?”
She found the keys, pressing the unlock button. The headlights flashed thirty yards away.
“My name is Elena,” she said, wrapping his arm tighter around her shoulders. “And if you die tonight, my son dies tomorrow.”
Luca’s heavy eyelids fluttered. “Your son?”
“Vincent has him,” she said, her voice cracking for the first time. “He forced me to deliver the note. He forced me to be a distraction so his man could get close enough with the needle.”
Luca’s mind raced through the thick fog of the toxin. She didn’t warn you to save your life. She warned you to keep your attention on the wine.
They reached the SUV. She shoved him into the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. The engine roared to life just as the kitchen doors burst open.
Marco stood in the alley, his gun raised. The headlights caught the heavy silver cross dangling from his neck—the very cross Luca had placed on his memorial stone.
Marco aimed at the windshield. Straight at Luca.
Elena slammed the gearshift into reverse and floored it.
A bullet shattered the side mirror, raining glass over Luca’s lap as the SUV tore out of the parking lot, tires screaming against the wet asphalt.
Luca slumped back against the leather seat, his chest tightening. He couldn't draw a full breath. The paralysis was starting.
Elena glanced at him, panic finally bleeding into her eyes. “Stay awake. Luca, look at me. Stay awake!”
“I’m... done,” he whispered.
“No, you’re not,” she snapped, reaching into her apron pocket. She pulled out a small, metallic object and slammed it into his trembling hand.
Luca looked down. His vision was swimming, but he recognized it instantly.
It was his father’s tarnished gold pocket watch. The one he had lost fifteen years ago on the night Marco died.
“Where... did you get this?” Luca choked, his heart hammering weakly.
Elena gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. “Vincent didn't just give me a warning note to pass to you.”
She looked at the road, her jaw set.
“He gave me the antidote. But he told me I have to make a choice.”
Luca’s lungs seized. He stared at her, the watch heavy in his dying hand.
May you like
“What choice?” he wheezed.
Elena swallowed hard. “Your life. Or my son’s.”
