Salvatore Caruso didn’t look up when I approached his table. Men like him rarely did. Too used to being served to really care who was holding the bottle.
“Wine?” I offered curtly.
He lifted his glass without a glance. I poured. Careful. Measured. A single drop would’ve been enough to kill him late at night, in his bed. He never would have found out what happened. His autopsy would determine the cause of death as a heart attack - believable for a man of Salvatore’s stature and age. I used more, just for fun.
I wanted to see him die. There was a special pleasure in watching my victims exhale their last, panicked breath. And tonight, I intended to sate my blood lust.
“Leave it here,” he muttered, waving me off.
I did. Set the bottle down within his reach.
Then I stepped back. Waiting wouldn’t take long, but I’d cherish it. The moment Caruso realized his life was over would make up for the stressful day I’d had. Maybe then I wouldn’t take my anger out on my pretty captive… Although just thinking of her, locked up and waiting for me, got me fucking hard.
It didn’t take long for Salvatore to register something was off.
First, the pause in speaking to his family members.
Then the slight shift in his posture, due to his muscles weakening, death slowly settling into his bones.
Salvatore raised a shaky hand to his throat. Confusion was written all over his face. Good.
He looked up then, eyes scanning the room, looking for a culprit.
The doors had already been locked. The staff cleared. The kitchen silent. It was just his unsuspecting family, him, and me.
Salvatore’s chair scraped loudly as he stood, knocking the glass over. Red wine bled across the white cloth like an ominous premonition of the blood he was about to cough up.
“What in the fucking-” His voice broke as he stumbled a step back.
“No need to shout,” I said calmly from my position by the other table. I set down a fork I’d been polishing, smiling easily at Caruso, who was already panicking.
Recognition flickered across his face. He’d seen me before, often enough to recognize my face now that he started to realize something was off.
Still, it was too late.
“Cazzo,” he choked.
I reached up, pulling the white cotton gloves tighter at the wrist. “Sit down, Salvatore.”
He didn’t. He stumbled instead, legs giving out as the poison started doing its work. Fast enough to hurt, slow enough to matter.
He hit the floor hard, in time for his family members to start screaming for help. My men quickly surrounded them, restraining his sons, forcing his wife and daughter to sit down and watch their loved one’s demise.
I crouched beside Salvatore and watched him with a peaceful smile.
“Don’t worry,” I said, my tone placating. “It won’t take too long. But it will hurt. And your family will watch.”
His fingers clawed at his throat, breath coming in short, broken gasps. Panic spread across his face, raw and ugly. I tilted my head.
“Let’s not waste time,” I said pleasantly. “We have business to attend to.”
Salvatore’s eyes locked onto mine. Wide. Desperate. Pleading for something I wasn’t willing to give - mercy. It was already too late, anyway.
“I’m going to need some names, if you want me to spare your lovely daughter and wife,” I continued. “You know why you’re here, don’t you?”
He shook his head frantically.Lie.
I pressed my gloved hand against his chest, pushing him flat against the floor as another wave of pain hit him. His body arched, a strangled sound tearing from his throat.
