I raise the bottle of Macallan 25, the amber liquid catching the light. "A gift from my father-in-law," I announce to the men who've served me loyally through hell and back.
“You’re going to share that?” Adriano asks, impressed. “I’d hoard it if it were me.”
“That’s why I’m the Don.” I arch a brow. It’s the closest I come to teasing him.
I pour glasses for each of my men, as well as Adriano and myself. Isabella stands next to me with her dutiful Mafia wife demeanor.
"To the Dante family," I say, holding my glass up. "And to all of you who make this family strong."
"To the Dantes!"
Before I can drink, Isabella touches my arm. “Am I still needed?”
I glance down at her. “I’d like you to stay by my side.”
She gives me a smile that irks me in its duty over warmth. “Of course.”
I turn my attention back to the room, where my men are laughing and chatting. Adriano is checking his phone, no doubt texting with Eva or Mirabella.
Then Paulie, one of my captains, freezes mid-laugh. His glass slips from his fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor.
"Paulie?" Antonio's voice turns concerned.
Paulie clutches his throat, his face contorting and turning red. He pitches forward onto the table. Then Antonio seizes up, his body going rigid as his eyes roll back.
“Jokers.” Adriano lifts his glass to his lips.
"DON'T DRINK!" I knock the glass from his hand, sending scotch spraying across the floor.
All around us, men are collapsing. Choking. Foam bubbles from their lips as they convulse and fall to the floor. Dying.
My mind races. The scotch. Marco's gift. That smug bastard sent poison right through my front door, and I served it to my most loyal men like a fucking offering.
Isabella's scream cuts through the chaos. Her face is pale with horror as she backs away, hands pressed to her mouth.
"Get the doctor!" I shout at her, but she stands frozen, staring at the bodies. "ISABELLA!"
Her eyes snap to mine, wide with shock or maybe guilt.
"Get the doctor NOW!" I roar, already knowing it's too late for most of them.
I should have killed Marco Vitale when I had the chance. I had him by the throat. One squeeze, and the Vitales would be headless.
Instead, I played diplomat.
"Antonio, stay with me," I urge, kneeling beside my underboss who writhes on the floor, his eyes bulging with terror as he fights for breath. He grips my sleeve, trying to speak, but only bloody foam spills from his lips.
This man has been with me since I was a boy. Kept my secrets. Protected my family. Now he's dying on my dining room floor because I underestimated my enemy.
Because I was too fucking distracted.
I watch helplessly as life leaves his eyes, his grip on my sleeve going slack. These men trusted me to protect them. To lead them. I’ve failed them all.
"Boss," one of the surviving lieutenants calls, his voice cracking. "Five dead already. Three more won't make it."
Eight men. Eight loyal soldiers wiped out in minutes.
Isabella returns with the doctor. She hovers at the doorway, staring at the carnage with wide, horrified eyes.
