A Mafia Boss Ordered Me To Hold His Crying Son When No One Else Could—Then He Looked At My Face And Whispered His Dead Wife’s Name

The tension in the circle around us was thick enough to choke on. Dante raised his flute, his dark eyes fixed on Vincent.

"To loyalty," Dante said coldly. "And to the swift death of traitors."

Vincent lifted his glass to his lips. Dante began to raise his flute toward his mouth.

"Wait!" I blurted out, my voice ringing clear and sharp above the sound of the string quartet.

Every eye in the immediate vicinity turned to me in surprise. Dante lowered his glass slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Elina?"

I turned toward Vincent Valenti, my heart thumping against my ribs, but my voice remained steady and icy. "Mr. Valenti, in my culture, it is considered bad luck for the host to drink from his own glass when toasting a new bride. Switch glasses with me."

Vincent’s smile instantly froze. A bead of sweat formed at his temple. "My dear Lady Elina, that is merely an old superstition. The champagne is identical—"

"If it's identical, then you won't mind switching," I challenged, stepping forward and extending my glass toward him while fixing him with an unyielding glare.

Gianna scoffed loudly. "This is absurd! Vincent, don't entertain this peasant’s nonsense!"

"Switch glasses, Vincent," Dante commanded, his voice dropping into a register that signaled immediate, lethal danger.

Vincent swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically toward the heavy exit doors. Slowly, his trembling hand reached out and exchanged his glass for mine.

"Drink," Dante ordered.

Vincent brought the crystal flute to his lips, but his hand was shaking so violently that the champagne spilled over the rim. He stood frozen for three agonizing seconds.

Then, with a desperate roar, Vincent hurled the flute straight at Dante’s face and reached into his tuxedo jacket for a concealed pistol!

Dante didn't even flinch.

Before Vincent’s weapon could clear his lapel, Dante caught Vincent’s wrist with his left hand, crushing the bones in a single, sickening CRACK.

Vincent screamed in agony, falling to his knees as Dante twisted his arm behind his back and drew his own custom silver Colt .45, pressing the cold barrel directly against the center of Vincent's forehead.

The ballroom exploded into absolute pandemonium. Women screamed, men ducked behind tables, and the orchestra abandoned their instruments in terror.

Within seconds, fifty Moretti soldiers dressed in black suits drew their weapons, sealing every exit and surrounding the perimeter.

"Dante! No! Please!" Gianna shrieked, falling to her knees beside her fiancé. "He didn't mean it!"

"Marco," Dante barked, not taking his eyes off the sniveling man beneath his gun. "Secure the perimeter. Bring the laboratory testing kit."

Marco stepped forward, took the shattered remnants of the champagne glass from the floor, and applied a chemical swab. Within three seconds, the swab turned a dark, toxic purple.

"Liquid potassium cyanide, Boss," Marco announced grimly. "Enough to cause cardiac arrest within thirty seconds."

The guests gasped in horror.

"Who paid you, Vincent?" Dante asked, his voice chillingly calm as his finger tightened on the trigger. "Was it Nikolai Volkov?"

"You're already dead, Moretti!" Vincent spat, blood dripping from his split lip. "The Russian fleet has already docked in Lake Michigan! They have your safehouses, your trade routes, and by midnight, your entire empire will burn!"