Uncle Matty's body has gone still, his eyes fixed and staring at nothing. I press Enzo's face against my hip, whispering reassurances that feel like lies.
My mind races.
If someone could poison Uncle Matty, Alessandro's consiglieri, then none of us are safe.
The traitor isn't just feeding information to the Bratva.
They're eliminating the Dante leadership from within.
“I need to get Enzo out of here,” I whisper urgently to Luca. "Now."
Luca's eyes meet mine, understanding instantly. He lifts our son into his arms, but before they can move toward the door, Alessandro's voice rings out again.
"I said nobody leaves!"
“He’s just a boy and not a part of this.” Luca challenges his brother. “Let Katerina take him to the cottage."
“Her brother was a traitor. She stays.”
Valentina leans toward Alessandro and whispers something.
Alessandro doesn’t like it but he nods. “You can take him to the cottage. But don’t try to leave the compound.”
Where would I go? I take Enzo from Luca and without a word, leave the dining room.
“Is Uncle Matty sick?” Enzo asks as I hurry down the corridor and out the back toward the cottage.
“Yes.” I don’t know what to tell him.
As we near the cottage, I see my car, and I have an overwhelming desire to toss Enzo in it and drive away, even as I have no idea where we could go.
But death and violence are coming too close to my son. It’s my job to protect him and so far, I’m failing.
19
LUCA
Once Katerina and Enzo are gone, I push through the chaos, toward Uncle Matty. The sight that greets me turns my blood to ice.
His lifeless eyes staring at nothing, foam crusting at the corners of his mouth, his skin already taking on the waxy pallor of death.
"It's poison," I announce. "Nobody touch your food or drinks."
I scan the table where Uncle Matty was sitting next to Alessandro. A full wine glass sits next to his plate.
So where did the glass he drank from come from?
That’s when I see that Alessandro’s glass is missing. My gaze darts to Alessandro as I realize the truth.
"Alessandro, that glass was meant for you.” My eyes sweep across the room, taking in every face.
Someone here killed Uncle Matty by mistake.
Or maybe they poisoned all our glasses.
I have this vision of all of us dead, except Enzo, who doesn’t drink wine.
God, how could he survive the trauma of seeing a table full of his family die?
