The silver fork he had been holding slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against his white porcelain plate.

His face drained of color, turning a dull, sickly gray under the light of the crystal chandelier.

He tried to speak, but only a wet, choking gasp came out of his mouth.

“Uncle?” Matteo asked, his focus snapping instantly back to the head of the table.

Alessandro clutched his throat with both hands, his fingernails digging into his skin.

His eyes bulged, blood vessels bursting in the whites of them as he looked at me with sudden, terrifying realization.

He fell forward, his chest slamming against the edge of the mahogany table, knocking over his half-empty water glass.

The poisoned wine he had just swallowed came back up, mixed with dark, thick blood that spilled across the white linen tablecloth.

The room erupted into chaos.

Chairs scraped violently against the floor as men stood up, drawing their weapons.

“Get the doctor!” Gianni roared, his gun clearing his holster and pointing directly at my chest.

Matteo was already at Alessandro’s side, lifting his uncle’s heavy shoulders with one hand while searching for a pulse with the other.