“It’s poisoned,” I exclaim.
5
ZAHRA
Iwhip my head around to find the waiter who served us and catch him wide-eyed, heading toward the back kitchen. Declan reaches over to take my glass and gestures to Aidan sitting at his own table across the room. The restaurant explodes into movement. I shove to my feet as the two brothers and Arman barrel straight for the attacker. Azula is at my side almost immediately.
“Take Declan’s whiskey glass and have it sent to our lab,” I order. Many mafias use poison, but most have their own signature. Whatever is in that glass could clue us in to who’s targeting us.
While Azula takes charge inside, I head in the same direction as where the waiter had left. It doesn’t take long before I’m in a back alley, the coppery scent of blood filling the air. From a quick look, both Declan’s and Arman’s hands are bruised and covered in red liquid. Aidan has his arms wrapped tightly around the waiter's chest, and for a moment, I don’t see a man who tried to kill me. Instead, I see a terrified boy who bit off more than he can chew.
Declan’s voice echoes on the brick walls as he leads the interrogation. “Did you really think you could use my own whiskey to poison us?” He nods his head toward me before pulling back his fist and landing a punch square in the nose of the man in front of him. The man crumples to the ground as Aidan lets go of him.
“T-There’s no poison in the drink…I swear…I’m just a waiter,” the man groans, albeit somewhat convincingly. I refuse to believe him. You don’t make it far in my line of work if you can’t tell a good lie.
Declan grabs at the man’s shirt and rips it off, revealing a chest covered in ink—the silhouette of a vulture. I’m not familiar with what mafia this represents, but by the look of terror on the man’s face as his secret was revealed, and the fact that he had laced my drink, I have no misconceptions about whether or not he’s my enemy.
The adrenaline starts to wear off and the reality that this stranger in front of me nearly killed me sinks in, and I feel my blood boil. I step up beside Declan, pulling out a sheathed knife tucked in my thigh holster, and strike the waiter across the face, leaving a large gash across his cheek that will forever remain as a scar. If I let him live after this. “Just a waiter? Are you sure you want to maintain that story?”
The man refuses to say anything, letting out only a few grunts and moans of pain.
Declan lifts the man from off the ground with ease, pinning him up against a wall with his hand wrapped around his throat. He squeezes. “Who sent you here?”
The man stays silent though his face turns a faint shade of purple.
“He can’t answer your questions with your fist wrapped around his neck.” I roll my eyes, stating the obvious.
Declan turns his head toward me. “Are you alright?”
The softness in his voice causes me to stumble. From his tone, you would think he was checking in on me after I accidentally spilled a drink on myself or told an embarrassing joke, not that he was covered in blood, beating the man who tried to kill me to a pulp.
“I’m fine. Never took a sip,” I reassure him.
“Even if she did, she’d be fin—” The man attempts to console Declan, who just squeezes his fingers even tighter around his neck.
“Why don’t we test that theory, shall we?” Declan snarls, signaling to Aidan, who I realize still has my drink in his hand. Declan presses the glass against the man’s face and I don’t miss how his eyes widen with fear.
“Please…Please don’t…” the man begs, but to no avail.
“Why not? You said the drink was fine. Unless you want to confess who sent you,” Declan presses. The man shakes his head in defiance. I suppose I couldn’t blame him. Either he would die now at Declan’s hands or with the reputation of a rat once his boss discovered he had snitched.
“Very well.” Before the man can protest again, Declan pries his jaw open and pours some of the poisoned drink down his throat. Taking a step back, Declan lets the man fall to the ground and comes to stand next to me. We both watch as he convulses on the floor for a few minutes before stopping.
Aidan does the honors, checking the man’s pulse.
“He’s dead.”
_________
The scalding water falling down my back, mixed with the scent of lavender and orange blossom, is the only thing keeping megrounded at this moment. I’m no stranger to rough days, violence, and death, but this is the first time someone has directly come to takemylife. And if I hadn’t had my wits about me, it would’ve been the last. Declan had been oddly protective of me once the man had died—insisting he be the one to put me back into the car, and following us back to my home before leaving back to his mansion that was on the complete opposite side of town. I suppose I shouldn’t be that surprised. Any true ally would have done the same when their partner was threatened. And regardless of what I know to be true about Declan, he still had a facade to maintain.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrap myself in a robe, rub cream all over my body, and run some leave-in conditioner in my hair to help form the subtle waves nearly identical to my mother’s when she was still alive. I’m fully settled in the loveseat in front of the fireplace in my room when Azula walks in.
“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” Azula checks. “We can always reconvene tomorrow.”
“No. I’m fine. The sooner we start to piece together who sent that man to kill me, the better.” I gesture for her to take the seat in front of me and pour us both a cup of warm tea from the pot I had ordered to be delivered prior to my shower.
“Arman is running the vulture tattoo through our entire database. Thus far, we have no matches between the largest known mafias in the states or prisons. Arman is going to do an international search soon, but it may take a few days for something to come back.”
