Chapter 2 - THE SOUP OF THE REBEL
Headline: "A Single Shot in the Dark Changed Everything! Who Bled at the Rinaldi Table?"When the emergency generators kicked in three seconds later, emitting a low, buzzing hum, the scene in the dining room had drastically changed.
The gunshot hadn't killed Marco. Instead, it had shattered the heavy crystal chandelier directly above the table. Shards of glass rained down like a frozen waterfall, embedding themselves into the food, the wood, and the flesh of those who hadn't ducked in time.
Marco was on his feet now, his gun drawn, breathing heavily. But Matteo hadn't moved an inch. He sat in his wheelchair, a stray piece of glass cutting a small line across his cheek. A single drop of blood rolled down his jaw, but his eyes never blinked. Elena was still behind him, her gun now aimed at the double doors where three of Marco’s men were trying to force their way in.
"This ends tonight, Matteo!" Marco roared, the mask of the loyal lieutenant completely shattered. "You’re a ghost! A broken relic! Boys, clear the room!"
But none of the capos moved to help Marco. They were businessmen first, killers second. They looked at the ledger on the table, then at Matteo’s eerie calmness, and then at the door.
"You think you bought them, Marco?" Matteo asked, wiping the blood from his cheek with a silk handkerchief. "You offered them fifty-fifty splits on the docks. But you forgot one thing. I don't pay them splits. I pay them protection. And without me, the commission will wipe every single one of you off the map by tomorrow morning."
Celeste was trembling, clutching Marco’s arm. "Marco, do something! He knows everything!"
"Shut up!" Marco snapped, pushing her away. He glared at Matteo. "You think you can stop me from walking out of here? You’re stuck in that chair. You can’t chase me."
"I don't need to chase you," Matteo said softly. He looked at Elena. "Elena, what did we put in the soup tonight?"
Elena’s face remained stone-cold, though a tiny, cruel smirk touched the corner of her lips. "The chef prepared a classic Italian minestrone, sir. Infused with a concentrated derivative of foxglove. Digitalis."
Marco’s eyes widened. He looked down at his empty bowl. He had eaten the entire thing. Around the table, four other capos who had eagerly eaten their first course suddenly gripped their throats.
"It takes about twenty minutes to bind to the cardiac receptors," Elena explained, her voice sounding like a clinical textbook. "Increased heart rate, blurred vision, followed by total myocardial infarction. Unless, of course, you receive the antidote within the next ten minutes."
Marco dropped his gun, his chest suddenly heaving as panic took over. He grabbed his throat, his knees buckling as he fell into the very chair he had stolen from Matteo. "You... you poisoned us?"
"I cleansed my house," Matteo corrected, rolling his chair forward until he was inches from Marco. He reached out, grabbed Marco by his silk tie, and pulled the older man’s face down to his level. "You thought because my legs didn't work, my venom was gone. I am Matteo Rinaldi. I rule from a throne, not from my feet."
"The antidote..." Marco wheezed, his eyes rolling back. "Please..."
Matteo released the tie, letting Marco slump against the table. He turned his eyes to Celeste, who was frozen in horror, looking at the dying men around her.
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"And now, my beautiful fiancée," Matteo said, his voice dripping with icy venom. "Let’s talk about your wedding vows."
The Cliffhanger: Celeste didn't beg. Instead, she reached into her emerald gown, pulled out a small remote control, and smiled through her tears. "If I go down, Matteo, we all do. Look under your chair."
