Chapter 2 - THE MAN OUTSIDE THE DOOR

The footsteps stopped outside Dante Moretti’s bedroom.

One step.

Then nothing.

Dante’s fingers were still wrapped around mine.

Weak.

Hot.

But no longer shaking.

I looked at him.

He looked at the door.

Neither of us spoke.

Then the brass handle moved.

Slowly.

Not like a guard checking on his boss.

Like someone trying not to be heard.

Dante let go of my hand.

His face changed before his body did.

The sick man disappeared.

The Don came back.

“Behind the curtain,” he whispered.

“I’m not hiding behind a curtain.”

His eyes cut toward me.

“Camilla.”

It was the first time he used my first name.

I hated that I listened.

I stepped behind the heavy velvet curtain beside the window just as the door opened.

A man entered.

Tall.

Dark suit.

No tie.

Same black eyes as Dante, but softer around the edges.

He carried a crystal bottle in one hand.

The whiskey.

“Dante?” he whispered.

Dante kept his eyes closed.

The man crossed the room.

He reached for the decanter on the side table.

And switched it.

My pulse jumped.

Dante’s eyes opened.

“Matteo.”

The man froze.

So this was the brother.

One of the three people with access to the bottle.

Matteo Moretti turned slowly.

For half a second, no one moved.

Then Dante sat up.

It cost him.

His jaw tightened against the pain.

But his voice came out cold.

“What are you doing?”

Matteo looked at the bottle in his hand.

Then at Dante.

“Saving your life.”

Dante almost laughed.

I stepped out from behind the curtain.

Matteo’s hand went inside his jacket.

“Don’t,” Dante said.

Matteo stopped.

His eyes moved to me.

“You’re the woman Leo brought.”

“The florist,” I said.

Dante gave me a tired look.

“Don’t encourage him.”

I pointed at the two decanters.

“Which one were you taking?”

Matteo stared at me.

“The one beside the bed.”

“Why?”

“Because I replaced it two nights ago.”

The room went quiet.

Dante’s face hardened.

“You did what?”

Matteo set the bottle down.

“Three weeks ago, I had a drink from your private stock.”

He pulled off one glove.

His hand trembled.

Not much.

But enough.

“I got sick before I finished the glass. Stomach cramps. Numb fingers. Metallic taste.”

I moved closer.

“Your nails.”

He looked at me like I had insulted him.

“Show me.”

Dante said nothing.

That was permission.

Matteo held out his hand.

Faint white bands crossed two of his nails.

Much lighter than Dante’s.

But there.

My chest tightened.

“You were exposed too.”

Dante stared at his brother.

Matteo nodded.

“I thought the bottle was contaminated. So I swapped it.”

“Without telling me?” Dante asked.

“I didn’t know who to trust.”

The words hit harder than shouting would have.

Dante’s expression went blank.

Family had always been the last wall for men like him.

And now even that wall had a door in it.

I grabbed two sterile sample vials from my bag.

“Don’t touch either bottle again.”

Matteo looked at me.

“You can test them?”

“I can screen them. A proper toxicology lab can confirm.”

I took samples from both decanters.

Old bottle.

New bottle.

Then I swabbed the rim of Dante’s usual glass.

Something chalky came off on the cotton.

Not much.

Almost nothing.

I sealed it.

Dante watched every movement.

“Who knew you switched the bottle?” I asked Matteo.

“No one.”

“Not Leo?”

“No.”

“Vincent?”

Matteo’s jaw tightened.

“No.”

I looked at Dante.

“Then if the old bottle is poisoned and the new one is clean, Matteo looks guilty.”

Dante’s eyes turned toward his brother.

Matteo didn’t flinch.

“But,” I continued, “if both bottles are clean and the glass is contaminated, somebody wanted us looking at the wrong thing.”

That changed the room.

Dante looked toward the nightstand.

His crystal tumbler sat beside the lamp.

Heavy.

Hand-cut.

A gold M etched into the base.

“Only one person drinks from that glass?” I asked.

Dante nodded.

“Me.”

Matteo swore softly.

I lifted the glass with gloved fingers.

Near the inner rim, almost invisible against the crystal, was a faint cloudy streak.

Dante saw it too.

“Who washes that?” I asked.

Matteo answered first.

“House staff.”

“Who controls house staff access to this floor?”

Neither brother spoke.

They didn’t need to.

The answer was the same name Dante had given me before.

Vincent.

The head of security.

Then someone knocked on the door.

Three times.

“Boss?” a man called from the hallway.

Dante’s eyes went flat.

Vincent.

I held up one finger.

Nobody move.

Then I slipped the swab into my field kit.

Two minutes later, the reagent turned dark.

Not proof.

But enough.

I stared at Dante.

“The glass is contaminated.”

Matteo whispered a curse.

Dante didn’t react.

He just looked at the door.

Vincent knocked again.

“Boss, everything all right?”

Dante’s voice was calm.

“Perfect.”

And that was when I understood something worse than poison.

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The killer was still inside the mansion.

And now he knew Dante was awake.