Chapter 6 - Poison in the GlassVictor Vance blinked in surprise as the young woman stepped into his personal space, her eyes flashing with absolute disdain.
"Amateurs?" Rachel echoed, her voice cutting cleanly through the ambient jazz music. "Mr. Vance, the only amateur I see is the one who hired incompetent hitmen to shoot a man in broad daylight and couldn't even finish the job."
A collective gasp echoed through the surrounding booths. Several patrons discreetly reached for their glasses, while others turned away, not wanting to be caught in the blast radius of such blatant disrespect.
Vance’s face contorted with rage, the color draining from his cheeks. He raised a trembling finger toward Rachel. "You little bitch—"
Click.
Three distinct, heavy clicks rang out simultaneously. Enzo’s shotgun was leveled at Vance’s chest from behind the booth, while two other hidden guards unclipped their holsters in the shadows.
Caleb remained seated, his expression a mask of lethal calm. He took a slow sip of his whiskey before looking up at Vance.
"She speaks the truth, Victor," Caleb said quietly. "And in my house, nobody threatens her. Now, I suggest you turn around and finish your drink at the bar before my enforcer decides to test if your vest is bulletproof."
Vance stared at Caleb, his chest heaving with suppressed fury. He knew he was outnumbered, and more importantly, he knew Caleb Rossi was unstable enough to start a full-scale war right here in the middle of neutral ground.
"This isn't over, Rossi," Vance hissed, stepping backward. "Enjoy your nurse while she lasts."
As Vance retreated into the crowd, Rachel sank back down onto the velvet couch, her legs suddenly trembling beneath her emerald dress. The adrenaline crash hit her hard, leaving her hands shaking.
Caleb reached across the table and gently placed his warm hand over her trembling fingers.
"You shouldn't have done that," Caleb said, though a dangerous, admiring smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Vance is a dangerous man."
"So are you," Rachel whispered, pulling her hand away gently. "I just didn't realize I was sitting at the head table of the monster factory."
"You're not a monster's victim, Rachel," Caleb said, leaning closer so that his voice was meant only for her ears. "You're his equal. No one else in this room would have dared look Victor Vance in the eye like that."
"I was an ER trauma nurse," she shot back. "I've dealt with worse than him before breakfast."
Caleb chuckled softly, a rich, genuine sound that seemed completely out of place in the dark underworld club. "I believe you. That's why I need you."
"Need me for what?"
Before Caleb could answer, a sharp spasm crossed his face. He winced, his hand clutching instinctively at his left shoulder where the stitches were still healing.
"Caleb?" Rachel asked, her clinical instincts instantly kicking in despite her anger. She reached out and touched his wrist, checking his pulse. It was racing—far too fast for someone sitting still.
"I'm fine," Caleb muttered, though his skin had turned an alarming shade of gray, and a sheen of cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
"No, you're not," Rachel said, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the half-empty glass of scotch Caleb had been drinking moments before Vance approached their table. She sniffed the air near the rim. Almonds. Faint, bitter almonds.
May you like
Cyanide.
"Enzo!" Rachel screamed, jumping to her feet. "Get the car! Now! He's been poisoned!"
