FIFTEEN
“W hat brings you here today?” the Don asked, straight to the point, leaving no room for pleasantries. His gaze bore into Poison, one eyebrow arched in a manner that suggested he was already displeased.
She felt a nervous flutter in her stomach, but she kept her voice steady as she replied, “I hear there’s been some misunderstanding regarding recent events.” She forced herself to maintain eye contact, even as she felt his scrutiny. “I wanted to set the record straight.”
The Don leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he watched her with an expression that revealed nothing. He was studying her, assessing her every word, her every movement, like a predator sizing up its prey. “Misunderstanding, you say?” His tone was deceptively casual, but she knew better than to be lulled into a false sense of security.
She nodded, determined to project an air of confidence despite the uncertainty gnawing at her insides. “Yes,” she said, her voice unwavering.
“And what exactly was misunderstood?”
She took a breath, choosing her words carefully. “I assure you, I had nothing to do with Tidal’s untimely demise. In fact, I was as shocked as anyone to hear of his passing.” She held her posture steady, but inside, she braced herself for his reaction.
The Don leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as if trying to peel away the layers of her facade. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise?—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the usual cold calculation. There was a silence that stretched between them, heavy and tense, as he considered her words.
“Demise?” he repeated, the confusion clear in his voice. “I have no such recollection. To my knowledge, my recruit was kidnapped from my very own establishment right after he met you in the ring.”
Her heart sank. She’d miscalculated—badly. The Don didn’t know Tidal was dead. She had just made herself look guilty of something far worse than what she’d originally come to discuss. She tried to keep her face neutral, but she could feel the tension building inside her, like a coiled spring ready to snap.
She forced a smile, though it felt like it might crack under the pressure. “Don, the only reason I know this is because he was on a stretcher being pushed into the hospital with a gaping bullet hole in his chest. I was there, being treated myself.”
“And why should I believe you?” the Don asked with skepticism. His gaze never wavered from her, searching for any sign of weakness.
She drew herself up, meeting his gaze with a resolve she didn’t entirely feel. “Because I value the peace between us, Don,” she said, her voice firm. “I have no desire to see it disrupted by senseless violence. I wouldn’t be here if I did.” The truth was, the very idea of a war with the Don sent a chill down her spine.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he weighed her words, his expression inscrutable. For a moment, the silence between them felt unbearable. Then, his lips twisted into something that might have been a smile, but there was no warmth in it. “Why were you at a hospital seeking treatment when I told you before there is medical personnel on-site?” His sounded almost casual, but she could hear the accusation lurking beneath it. “Do I need to remind you that we do not need unnecessary attention drawn to us?”
She felt the tension in her shoulders tighten further. The realization hit her. He was looking for a reason to pin something on her, to make her seem guilty. The voices in her head, the ones she tried so hard to silence, began to whisper again, telling her to be careful, to watch her step. She needed to get out of this, and fast.
“And as I’ve told you before, Don, that is very kind of you,” she said, refusing to let her voice falter, “but I will again have to respectfully decline. You’ve already kept your doors open to me and my crew. Let your staff worry about your own men.” She forced a smile, one that she hoped conveyed her lack of interest in further discussing the matter. The last thing she wanted was to owe the Don any favors, especially not one that involved something as personal as her health.
The Don’s eyes narrowed further, and for a moment, Poison feared she’d pushed too far. But then, his expression shifted, and there was a hint of grudging respect in his gaze. “Let me remind you, Miss Sloan,” he warned, pointing a finger in her direction, “public general hospitals are public health care providers.” He emphasized the word public, making it clear that he didn’t appreciate the potential risks.
She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging his point. “I understand your concerns, Don, but I assure you, we are discreet and would never want to cause you any trouble.” Her voice remained steady, though her nerves were frayed beneath the surface.
To her relief, the Don nodded, his expression softening just enough to signal that he was willing to let the matter rest. “Very well,” he said, his tone measured. “But know this, Miss Sloan. If I discover that you’ve been less than forthcoming with me, there will be consequences.”
She swallowed hard, knowing exactly what those consequences would be. She nodded, her jaw set in determination. “Understood,” she replied. She would have to be more careful, more guarded. The Don was not a man to be trifled with, and she had just barely escaped his ire this time.
The Don gestured toward a side table adorned with crystal decanters, indicating that their meeting was at an end. “Perhaps a drink to seal our newfound understanding?” he suggested, pouring a generous measure of amber liquid into two crystal glasses.
She hesitated for a brief moment before accepting the glass he offered. It was a sign of respect; one she couldn’t afford to refuse. She raised the glass in a silent toast, meeting his gaze before taking a sip. The fiery liquid burned down her throat, warming her from the inside out, but it did little to ease the tension wrestling within her.
As she set the glass down, she knew that this meeting had been a dangerous game. She had walked a tightrope, balancing between truth and deception, and for now, she had survived. But the Don’s warning lingered in her mind, a reminder that she would need to tread even
more carefully in the days to come. The stakes were higher than ever, and one wrong move could bring everything crashing down.
The air in the room shifted as the tension between them eased slightly. Poison’s mind raced with questions, each one vying for attention as she sought to unravel the mystery surrounding Tidal’s death.
“May I ask, Don?” she began, curiosity getting the better of her. “What exactly happened to Tidal? And the men who took him from the Quarry?”
The Don regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before offering a faint shrug.
“Unfortunately, the details are scarce. You seem to have more information than I do,” he admitted. “Tidal’s sudden disappearance, well, death, I suppose, took us by surprise. As for those who took him…” He trailed off.
Her brow furrowed in frustration at the lack of answers.
“Surely someone must have seen something,” she pressed. “What about Giovanni and Roberto? Did they witness anything unusual?”
A shadow passed over the Don’s features, a brief glimpse of concern.
“Giovanni and Roberto are loyal men,” he replied cryptically, guarded. “But even they were unable to shed light on Tidal’s fate.”
Poison’s grip tightened around her glass, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. It was maddening to be met with such a wall of silence, especially when the stakes were so high. But she knew she was playing with fire in questioning the Don of all people.
“And the men who took Tidal out of the Quarry?” she pressed again. “What became of them?”
A flicker of something unreadable flashed in the Don’s eyes before he shook his head dismissively.
“They have been dealt with,” he replied with finality.
Poison’s jaw clenched at the vague response, her mind racing with unanswered questions. It was clear that the Don was keeping something from her, something crucial to understanding the events that had unfolded.
“What is it to you?” he asked, his brows furrowing.
“I just,” She took a moment to collect her thoughts before pressing the matter. Fuck consequences. She needed answers. “I’m just wondering what happened from the moment they carried him out of the ring to him dying in a hospital. The timeframe doesn’t add up.”
With a raised eyebrow, the Don asked: “What do you mean?”
“He was unconscious when they carried him off. There were only about thirty minutes from the moment he hit the floor to his death. Whoever shot him must have done so in the ambulance. There’s no way they could have responded so quickly to a call.”
The Don leaned back in his chair, contemplating with a hand in his silver-flecked hair.
“You have reason to believe it was premeditated?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Do you know why someone would target Tidal?” she asked, trying to piece the puzzle together.
But the look the Don gave her made her close her mouth with a low thud as her teeth connected—bowing her head.
“Your affairs are none of my business. I apologize, Don.”
Fuck, she had gone too far. She was pressing the buttons of a man who could have her killed in the blink of an eye.
To her surprise, a low chuckle rippled from his chest.
“Miss Sloan,” He tried to get his laughter under control, without succeeding. “It would only be you who would dare to question my authority.”
“I do apologize, Don. It won’t happen again.”
“You know; you were eighteen when you told me that the first time.”
The memory hit her like a slap in the face.
“I was very young and na?ve,” she countered, smiling at the memory of how she accidentally ran her mouth to him—not knowing he was the fucking Don of the Italian Mafia.
“And when you were twenty-one?” he challenged, openly smiling at her.
“I was…” She couldn’t help but smile back—she was chatting to the Don as if they were equals. “I was angry,” she finished, shrugging.
“And now?”
“Now I’m just putting my foot in my mouth, Don.”
“Won’t you reconsider my offer to join my allegiance?” His voice was serious, yet the laughter still lingered in his eyes.
“I prefer things the way they are, Don. No offense, but your men aren’t the brightest,” she teased.
Fuck, how strong was that whiskey? She looked at her glass, swirling the content. She had no idea where the audacity to challenge the Don came from.
“That’s exactly why I could use someone like you to set them straight,” he said, raising his glass to her.
“Don,” She shook her head, laughing. “You’re forgetting one thing.”
“And what may that be?” he inquired.
“The Mafia doesn’t allow women in their brotherhood.”
His laughter echoed through the space—folding over his knees. It was fucking weird seeing such a powerful and dangerous man laughing so joyfully.
“Come now, dear Poison,” he breathed between fits of laughter. “We didn’t even allow anyone from outside the bloodline to join. Now look at us. It’s a progressive world out there. Just take your time and think about it.”
Raising her glass in a silent toast, she forced a tight smile, masking the storm of emotions swirling within her. The amber liquid burned as it slid down her throat.
As she emptied her glass, Poison stood and placed it on the table.
“Until next time, Don,” she said.
The Don offered a slight nod in return, a glimmer in his eyes.
“Take care, Miss Sloan.”
With that, she turned to leave, her footsteps echoing faintly in the grand foyer as she made her way toward the imposing doors. As she crossed the threshold, she couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder, meeting the Don’s gaze one last time.
At that moment, she saw something hinting at respect in his eyes.
With a final nod of farewell, she stepped out into the cool morning air, the weight of the Don’s scrutiny lingering on her shoulders as she straddled her bike. .