Chapter 15 #2
I force myself to nod. To smile like I agree. Like I’m learning valuable lessons from a mentor instead of recording the confession of a murderer.
“Is that what happened with your wife?” The question is dangerous, but he’s drunk enough now that I don’t think he’ll notice. “You said you had to remind her of her place.”
Agnello’s expression darkens. He knocks back the rest of his whisky and pours another. His third? I’ve lost count.
“My wife.” He practically spits the words. “She was questioning me. Defending Adora when I disciplined her. Acting like she had a say in how I ran my household.”
I glance toward the doorway. Adora is still there, and now her hand is pressed against her mouth. Her eyes are wide and glassy.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“Had Pietro take care of it.” Agnello says it matter-of-factly. “Made it look like an accident. Car went off the road. Everyone believed it. Why wouldn’t they? These things happen.”
The room feels colder suddenly.
I look at Adora again, and her whole body has gone rigid. Her knuckles are white where she’s gripping the doorframe. For a moment, I think she might storm in here and attack him with her bare hands.
She takes one shaking breath, then another. Then she turns and walks away.
I watch her go, my heart in my throat.
“The point is,” Agnello continues, oblivious, “you can’t let a woman think she has power. You have to be willing to do whatever it takes to maintain control.”
“I understand,” I say, my voice flat.
He raises his glass to me. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for, Vici.”
The irony of that statement coming from the man who’s trying to have me killed would be funny if I wasn’t fighting the urge to vomit.
My phone is still recording in my pocket. I have his confession. Everything Dashamir needs.
“Well,” I say, setting down my barely-touched whisky. “Thank you for the advice. I appreciate the wisdom.”
I leave him there with his whisky and his delusions, and step out of the room. My heart is pounding. Adora is nowhere in sight.
I scan the reception hall. Guests are milling about, laughing, drinking. Sofia catches my eye from across the room, her expression concerned. I shake my head slightly. Not now.
Where is she?
Then I see her, a flash of white silk as she takes a champagne glass off the bridal table and disappears into the ladies’ room.
I check my phone. The recording is still going. I stop it, save it, email it to Matteo, and slide the phone back into my pocket.
A few minutes pass, and Adora emerges. Something about her has changed. Her face is composed without a tear in sight, but her eyes are colder and harder.
She’s still carrying a champagne flute that she sets back down on the bridal table at her father’s place.
Understanding races down my spine.
I know my wife.
I know what she’s capable of.
She walks toward the sitting room where her father is still drinking, her smile bright and perfect. When she reaches the doorway, she calls to him, her voice light and cheerful.
“Dad? It’s time for the toasts.”
Agnello emerges, flushed and smiling. “Already? Then let’s toast to the happy couple.”
Adora leads the way back to the main hall, and I follow, Agnello stumbling slightly beside me.
The guests quiet as we approach the bridal table. Servers move through the crowd with open bottles, making sure every glass is full.
Agnello takes his position at his place and raises his glass high.
“Friends, family,” he begins, his voice carrying across the hall. “Today is a momentous occasion. The union of Montoni and Vici. Two great families, brought together through my beautiful daughter and her new husband.”
The crowd murmurs in appreciation.
“Vincenzo.” Agnello turns to me, his smile wide and false. “Welcome to the family. May your marriage be prosperous and…long.”
The emphasis on the word long makes my skin crawl. He thinks I’ll be dead within a few moments. The poison he’s given his daughter is about to do its work on me.
“To Adora,” he continues, “who has made me so proud today. And to family loyalty. The most important thing we have.”
He raises his glass higher, and everyone follows suit.
“To the bride and groom!”
“To the bride and groom!” the crowd echoes.
Agnello drinks deeply, draining half his glass in one swallow. Then he looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to do the same.
I raise my glass to my lips and drink. The champagne is excellent, crisp, cold, and perfectly effervescent, and I swallow it down. Agnello is watching me with barely concealed satisfaction.
But nothing happens.
I’m still standing. Still smiling. Still very much alive.
Confusion flickers across his face. He takes another drink.
That’s when his expression changes.
His face flushes red, and not the rosy flush of alcohol, but a dangerously bright red. His hand clutches his throat.
“Dad?” Adora’s voice is perfectly pitched with concern. “Are you okay?”
He tries to speak, but only a strangled sound comes out. His eyes are bulging, his face contorting in pain.
The champagne flute slips from his fingers and shatters on the floor.
Then he collapses.
The room erupts in chaos. Guests surge forward. Someone screams. Chairs scrape against hardwood as people rush to help.
Adora is there first, dropping to her knees beside her father’s convulsing body, her wedding dress pooling around her in champagne and shattered crystal.
“Someone call an ambulance!” Her voice rises above the chaos. “Please, somebody help him!”
She cradles his head in her lap, her face a mask of devastated shock. Tears stream down her cheeks. Her hands shake as she touches his face, his throat, checking for a pulse that I know is already fading.
“Dad, stay with me,” she sobs. “Please, please, stay with me.”
I stand back, playing the shocked son-in-law, watching as Don Carlucci Barone takes charge and orders someone to call for help. Sofia appears at my elbow, her face pale.
“Vincenzo,” she whispers. “What—”
“I don’t know,” I say, loud enough for others to hear. Shocked. Confused. “He was fine a minute ago.”
But I do know.
Adora crouches over her father’s body, and her voice breaks perfectly. “Please, somebody help him!”
Her acting is flawless.
I’ve never loved her more.