Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Table
By midnight, the mansion was under silent lockdown.
Ricardo didn't confront Marcus immediately. A man like Ricardo Moretti didn't strike until the trap was completely sprung.
Instead, he ordered a private family dinner in the grand dining room downstairs. Marcus stood silently by the double doors, dressed in his crisp suit, a sidearm holstered beneath his arm, believing he was still the trusted right hand of the Moretti family.
I sat at the long mahogany table, trying to swallow small bites of steak that tasted like ash. Leo sat beside me in his high chair, happily smearing mashed potatoes on a plastic plate. Ricardo sat at the head, sipping a glass of heavy red wine, his face an unreadable mask of cold authority.
"Marcus," Ricardo said smoothly, setting his glass down with a soft clink.
"Yes, Don Moretti?" Marcus stepped forward, his head bowed respectfully.
"How long have you served my family?"
"Ten years, sir. Since your father ran the docks."
Ricardo nodded thoughtfully, tracing the rim of his crystal glass with his index finger. "Ten years. A long time to build trust. And a very long time to sell it piece by piece."
The air in the room instantly turned to ice.
Marcus didn't flinch, but I saw his fingers twitch near his belt line. "I don't understand, Don Ricardo."
"Dock 4," Ricardo said quietly. "The shipping manifests. Victor Vance paid you two million dollars to turn off the security grid the night my wife was killed. And tonight, he paid you another five hundred thousand to leave the west gate unlocked at two in the morning."
Marcus’s posture shifted. In a fraction of a second, the loyal lieutenant vanished, replaced by a desperate, cornered rat.
He drew his firearm, aiming it directly at my head.
"Nobody move!" Marcus screamed, his eyes wild. "Ricardo, drop your gun or I put a bullet through your fake fiancée's brain!"
Leo let out a sharp cry, frightened by the loud voice. Instinct took over. I threw my body over Leo’s high chair, shielding his small frame with my own body, wrapping my arms around his head to muffle the sound.
"Clara, stay down!" Ricardo commanded.
He didn't draw a gun. He didn't even stand up.
"Do you really think I brought you into this room without clearing the floor first, Marcus?" Ricardo asked, his voice chillingly relaxed.
From the shadows of the dining room curtains, three silenced shots echoed—thwip, thwip, thwip.
Marcus gasped, his eyes widening in shock as three red blooms erupted across his chest. He dropped his gun, collapsing onto the marble floor with a heavy, wet thud.
The dining room doors burst open, and four loyal bodyguards rushed in, dragging Marcus’s lifeless body out before a single drop of blood could stain the rug near Leo’s high chair.
I was shaking violently, clutching Leo against my chest. The boy wasn't screaming. He was buried in my neck, holding onto my collar like I was his only anchor in the world.
Ricardo stood up from the table. He walked over to us, dropping to his knees beside my chair.
He reached out, his heavy hand resting over mine, prying my fingers gently away from my panicked grip on the chair.
"It's over, Clara," he said softly, his voice devoid of the lethal edge it had carried seconds ago. "He's gone. You're safe."
I looked down at him. The most feared mob boss in New York was kneeling on the floor at my feet, his dark eyes filled with something raw, vulnerable, and terrifyingly real.
"He was going to kill us," I sobbed quietly.
"I will burn this entire city to ash before I let anyone hurt you or my son," Ricardo vowed, his fingers weaving into mine, squeezing tightly. "Do you hear me? Nobody touches you."
Leo peeked out from my shoulder, looking at his father. He reached out his small hand, touching Ricardo’s cheek.
"Daddy," Leo whispered softly. "Clara safe?"
Ricardo’s eyes softened completely, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips as he kissed his son's forehead. "Yes, Leo. Clara is safe."
He looked back up at me, his golden-brown eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. The fake fiancée agreement was dead. The rules were crumbling around us.
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And as Ricardo lifted his hand to wipe a tear from my cheek, his thumb lingering against my lower lip, I realized the most dangerous part of his warning had come true.
I was falling in love with him.
