Chapter 7 - The Poisoned Champagne
Damian recovered his composure with chilling speed.
“Julian’s daughter,” he murmured, bowing slightly with mocking deference. “A remarkable miracle. We were led to believe the Vance bloodline ended in the Atlantic waters.”
“My father had loyal friends, Damian,” Evelyn replied coldly. “Friends who valued honor more than stolen gold.”
Marcus Castillo scoffed, raising a glass of vintage champagne. “A pretty speech from a girl who knows nothing of how this city is run. But perhaps we should toast to unexpected returns. A reconciliation between the old guard and the new.”
A waiter dressed in white livery stepped forward, offering a silver tray bearing two crystal flutes.
Castillo took one and gestured for Evelyn to take the other.
I caught Evelyn’s wrist before her fingers could touch the glass.
My eyes swept over the waiter. His hands were trembling—just a fraction of a millimeter. His collar was damp with nervous sweat.
“What’s the matter, Adrien?” Damian asked, his voice dripping with false innocence. “Can’t share a drink with your elders?”
Without a word, I reached out, took the glass meant for Evelyn, and handed it directly to Damian.
“If the wine is worthy of the Vance family,” I said calmly, “the Consigliere should take the first sip.”
Damian’s eyes widened slightly. His fingers tightened around his own glass, but he made no move to take the flute I offered.
The silence around us stretched until it was unbearable.
“Take the drink, Uncle,” I whispered, stepping half an inch closer. “Or admit to everyone in this room that you are too cowardly to stand behind your own poison.”
Castillo suddenly moved his hand toward his jacket.
Dante was faster. A suppressed muzzle clicked against the back of Castillo’s neck before he could draw his weapon.
“One twitch, Marcus,” Dante said cheerfully into his ear, “and I repaint this ballroom wall.”
Panic erupted among the high-society guests as screams shattered the elegance of the gala. Damian knocked the poisoned champagne flute from my hand, the crystal shattering across the marble floor, the acidic liquid hissing against the polished stone.
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“You’ve sealed your fate, Adrien!” Damian hissed, retreating behind his private security detail. “The council will not recognize this girl! By sunrise, the entire syndicate will hunt you down!”
“Let them come,” I roared back, drawing my weapon as the lights in the grand ballroom suddenly cut out, plunging the entire floor into pitch-black chaos.
