I know my wife.
I know what she’s capable of.
She walks toward the sitting room where her father is still drinking, her smile bright and perfect. When she reaches the doorway, she calls to him, her voice light and cheerful.
“Dad? It’s time for the toasts.”
Agnello emerges, flushed and smiling. “Already? Then let’s toast to the happy couple.”
Adora leads the way back to the main hall, and I follow, Agnello stumbling slightly beside me.
The guests quiet as we approach the bridal table. Servers move through the crowd with open bottles, making sure every glass is full.
Agnello takes his position at his place and raises his glass high.
“Friends, family,” he begins, his voice carrying across the hall. “Today is a momentous occasion. The union of Montoni and Vici. Two great families, brought together through my beautiful daughter and her new husband.”
The crowd murmurs in appreciation.
“Vincenzo.” Agnello turns to me, his smile wide and false. “Welcome to the family. May your marriage be prosperous and…long.”
The emphasis on the wordlongmakes my skin crawl. He thinks I’ll be dead within a few moments. The poison he’s given his daughter is about to do its work on me.
“To Adora,” he continues, “who has made me so proud today. And to family loyalty. The most important thing we have.”
He raises his glass higher, and everyone follows suit.
“To the bride and groom!”
“To the bride and groom!” the crowd echoes.
Agnello drinks deeply, draining half his glass in one swallow. Then he looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to do the same.
I raise my glass to my lips and drink. The champagne is excellent, crisp, cold, and perfectly effervescent, and I swallow it down. Agnello is watching me with barely concealed satisfaction.
But nothing happens.
I’m still standing. Still smiling. Still very much alive.
Confusion flickers across his face. He takes another drink.
That’s when his expression changes.
His face flushes red, and not the rosy flush of alcohol, but a dangerously bright red. His hand clutches his throat.
“Dad?” Adora’s voice is perfectly pitched with concern. “Are you okay?”
He tries to speak, but only a strangled sound comes out. His eyes are bulging, his face contorting in pain.
The champagne flute slips from his fingers and shatters on the floor.
Then he collapses.
The room erupts in chaos. Guests surge forward. Someone screams. Chairs scrape against hardwood as people rush to help.
Adora is there first, dropping to her knees beside her father’s convulsing body, her wedding dress pooling around her in champagne and shattered crystal.
“Someone call an ambulance!” Her voice rises above the chaos. “Please, somebody help him!”
