Chapter 1
“You made her mother taste my drinks so she’d take the blame if I fell.”
Celeste stopped breathing.
Marco lay among collapsed trays and napkin boxes, but his eyes were not on me.
They were on Anna.
That mattered.
Mia stood beside her mother, small fingers wrapped around the edge of Anna’s apron.
Anna’s hands were red and cracked badly enough that I noticed them even from across the room.
I should have noticed sooner.
“Anna.”
She looked at me.
Fear first.
Not relief.
“How many times?”
Celeste interrupted.
“She’s a servant, Vittorio. Don’t humiliate yourself—”
I turned my head.
She stopped.
I looked back at Anna.
“How many times did she make you taste my drinks?”
Anna swallowed.
“Eight.”
The room became completely silent.
Eight.
Not tonight.
Not one terrible improvisation.
Routine.
“What happened afterward?”
Her eyes filled.
“Usually nothing.”
Usually.
“And when something did?”
Mia looked up at her mother.
Anna’s lips trembled.
“Twice I got very sleepy.”
Celeste snapped:
“She works herself exhausted.”
I ignored her.
“Anything else?”
“Metal taste.”
“Headache.”
“And the blue?”
Anna hesitated.
“Three times.”
I looked at the crystal glass Mia had stopped me from drinking.
Blue residue clung faintly near the inner rim.
Marco tried to stand.
My guards pushed him back down.
“Careful,” he said. “You’re turning a child’s imagination into treason.”
I walked toward him.
“No.”
My voice stayed low.
“I’m turning eight forced tastings into questions.”
Then I looked at Celeste.
“What did you tell Anna?”
Anna answered.
“She said you were worried someone might tamper with your drinks.”
I stared.
“And that you ordered me to check them first.”
There it was.
My authority.
Borrowed.
Again.
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
Anna looked ashamed.
“You don’t speak to kitchen staff much, sir.”
Fair.
Painfully fair.
Celeste had not only used fear.
She had used distance.
Then Mia tugged my sleeve.
“Mr. Vittorio?”
I crouched.
“What?”
She pointed toward Marco.
“He puts blue in Mommy’s cup too.”
Marco’s face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
I stood.
“What cup?”
Mia answered with the certainty of a child describing something adults assumed she had forgotten.
“The little one after Mommy cleans.”
Anna went white.
May you like
And suddenly I understood the red hands.
The drinks were only half of it.
