Chapter 2 - The Interrogation of the Garden
The grand ballroom of Villa Fontana, usually reserved for charity galas and high-profile negotiations, had been transformed into a makeshift tribunal. The crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant, unforgiving glare over the fifty guests seated in velvet armchairs, flanked by armed guards at every door.
At the center of the room sat Alessio, leaning forward in a high-backed leather chair, the suspicious glass resting on a silver tray before him.
Nina and her mother had been brought inside and seated near the fireplace. Greta clutched her daughter’s hand so tightly it was a wonder the bones didn't bruise, her eyes wide with terror. She had spent her entire life working in the shadows of the wealthy, knowing that survival meant keeping your head down, your mouth shut, and your eyes blind to the sins of your employers.
Yet, here they were, sitting at the epicenter of a mafia execution.
Alessio stood up, walking slowly past the rows of terrified politicians, bankers, and underworld associates. He stopped in front of a man wearing a bespoke tuxedo, sweating profusely despite the cool air conditioning.
“Director Vance,” Alessio murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “You look nervous. Did you not enjoy the wine?”
“Mr. Fontana—Alessio—this is madness!” Vance stammered, pulling at his silk tie. “I’m a state banking commissioner! You can't just detain me because a stray homeless kid pointed at a glass!”
“She’s not a stray kid,” Alessio replied coldly. “Her name is Nina. And unlike you, Director, she pays attention to her surroundings.”
Alessio stepped back, signaling to one of his enforcers. “Bring him the security logs from the service pantry.”
A heavy tablet was dropped onto Vance’s lap. The screen displayed a high-definition CCTV feed from 7:45 PM—twenty minutes before the toast. The footage showed a pair of hands wearing custom silver cufflinks reaching across the service counter, swapping the poisoned glass into the tray designated for the head table.
Vance’s face turned the color of ash. He looked up, his eyes pleading. “I had to... they threatened my family, Alessio! They said if I didn't let them secure the alliance, my daughter would—”
Before Vance could finish his sentence, a deafening crack echoed through the room.
It wasn't a gunshot. It was Valentina’s wineglass slipping from her fingers and shattering against the marble floor.
May you like
All eyes snapped toward her.
Valentina stood by the mahogany bar, her face completely drained of color. She wasn't looking at Vance. She was looking at the security tablet, and more specifically, at the silver cufflinks displayed in the zoomed-in video frame—cufflinks she had gifted to her lover, Senator Marcus Thorne, just three days prior.
