Chapter 1 - The Sinking Key
|
The silver key hit the bottom of the crystal wine glass with a dull, heavy clink. Deep red Barolo swirled around the metal, swallowing the only guarantee of Isadora’s freedom.
Giovanni Rossi stared at the glass, then slowly lifted his dark, dangerous eyes to meet hers. For a man who controlled the shipping lanes, the politicians, and the very breath of the Amalfi Coast, disobedience was a foreign language. He was accustomed to weeping, to begging, to men twice his age sweating through their suits in his presence.
He was not accustomed to a waitress in a cheap uniform destroying his trousers and then drowning his olive branch.
"I asked you a question, Isadora," Gio said.
His voice was a low, vibrating hum that barely carried over the ambient noise of the restaurant, yet it seemed to rattle the very marrow in her bones.
"I don't want a train ticket," Isadora replied, keeping her voice completely level. "I don't want my pitiful savings back, and I don't want to run like a frightened animal. You asked what I want, Giovanni. I want the truth."
"The truth about what?"
"About how your father actually died."
The air in the dining room seemed to freeze. Luca and Matteo, standing like stone gargoyles in the shadows of the exit, instinctively shifted their weight. In the Rossi family, Vincenzo Rossi’s death was an off-limits subject. A sudden heart attack in his sleep. A tragic, natural end to a brutal, unnatural man. That was the official story.
"My father died of a failing heart," Gio said, his jaw tightening so hard a muscle feathered along his cheek. "And if you suggest otherwise, I will not offer you a key next time. I will offer you a coffin."
"His heart didn't fail," Isadora whispered, leaning over the table, planting her palms on the crisp white linen. "It was stopped. And the man who stopped it is sitting in your inner circle right now, drinking your wine and kissing your ring."
Gio’s eyes narrowed into sharp, obsidian slits. The predatory stillness returned to his frame. He didn't yell. He didn't strike her. He simply reached out, his calloused fingers wrapping around her wrist with the terrifying, inescapable force of a steel trap.
"Luca," Gio commanded softly, never breaking eye contact with her.
May you like
"Yes, Boss."
"Bring the car around to the private alley. We are leaving." Gio stood up, pulling Isadora seamlessly with him. "And you, little bird, are going to sing."
