Chapter 1
My aunt told my three-year-old daughter I was going to die.
I learned about it because she shoved Clara off a chair.
Christmas dinner at the D’Angelo estate had been running for forty minutes when Clara tried to climb into the seat beside mine.
It was her seat.
Everyone knew that.
At private dinners, Clara always sat on my right.
She liked stealing the olives from my plate and whispering things during conversations she wasn't supposed to understand.
That night, Katherine stopped her.
My aunt placed one hand against Clara's shoulder and shoved.
Hard.
My daughter hit the carpet sideways.
I was out of my chair before anyone else moved.
“I told you that seat isn't yours anymore.”
Katherine's voice carried across the gallery.
I picked Clara up.
She wrapped both arms around my neck.
Her face was wet.
“Daddy…”
“I'm here.”
She looked over my shoulder at Katherine.
Then back at me.
“She said you're dying.”
Everything inside me stopped.
The music didn't.
Neither did the fireplace.
But the room did.
Marcus stood so quickly his chair struck the wall behind him.
“She’s four. She misunderstood.”
Clara was three.
Marcus knew that.
More importantly, I hadn't asked him anything.
I turned toward him.
“Sit down.”
He didn't.
His eyes went toward Katherine.
Then toward my wineglass.
Just once.
A tiny movement.
Most people would have missed it.
I didn't.
“Marcus.”
He stepped toward me.
“She heard something she wasn't supposed to understand.”
“What?”
“Roman—”
“What did she hear?”
His jaw tightened.
Then he lunged.
I moved outside his punch, caught his arm and drove him forward.
Marcus crashed chest-first into the wooden bottle rack.
The rack folded into the wine trolley.
Bottles scattered.
Trays spun across the carpet.
Marcus went down under the broken lower frame.
Katherine rushed toward Clara.
That was her second mistake.
I moved Clara behind one of my bodyguards, caught Katherine's arm and redirected her away.
She stumbled into the decanter stand.
Presentation boxes spilled across the floor.
Then I looked at her.
Really looked.
Katherine had been part of my family since before I could remember.
She had held me at my father's funeral.
She had sat beside me when I took control of the D’Angelo crews.
She had kissed Clara's forehead the morning she was born.
Now she looked terrified.
I walked toward her.
“When did you start planning to kill me?”
“No one is planning anything.”
Marcus tried to climb up.
Two bodyguards pushed him back down.
Katherine straightened her gown.
“You are frightening a child over nonsense.”
“No.”
I looked toward Clara.
“She was already frightened.”
That ended the argument.
I turned toward the table.
My wineglass sat beside my plate.
Untouched.
I had been about to drink from it when Clara fell.
Beside it stood the private decanter Katherine had personally sent to my end of the table twenty minutes earlier.
My security chief, Salvatore Greco, stepped closer.
“Boss?”
I pointed.
“Don't touch that glass.”
Katherine's face changed.
Barely.
But enough.
Salvatore noticed too.
So did Marcus.
And suddenly Clara's words were no longer the only thing bothering me.
May you like
Someone had told my daughter I was dying.
And both of them were staring at the drink I hadn't taken.
