Chapter 1 - THE GIFT THAT WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE OPENED
Marcus Valente's fingers were less than an inch from the black lacquered box when I gave an order that silenced two hundred people.
"Take your hand away."
He froze.
The chandelier above us glittered against the polished marble floor. Champagne bubbles rose inside abandoned glasses. Somewhere near the ballroom entrance, a woman gasped.
Marcus slowly turned toward me.
"Dante?"
I didn't move.
"I said, take your hand away."
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But after fifteen years of working beside Marcus, I knew his face better than my own reflection.
That wasn't confusion.
It was fear.
"What's going on?" he asked.
I approached the gift table.
"That's what I'd like to know."
Marcus forced a laugh.
"It's your birthday, brother. You're making everyone nervous."
"Then answer one simple question."
"Anything."
"Did you open that box before bringing it here?"
His smile disappeared.
"Why would I?"
I stopped beside him.
"That's not an answer."
The room remained silent.
Marcus glanced toward the guests.
"Dante, perhaps we should discuss this privately."
I looked toward my security chief, Vincent Cole.
"Clear the ballroom calmly. Nobody approaches the gift table. Have the building's security team contact the police and request their bomb technicians."
Marcus's face drained.
"Bomb technicians?"
I looked at him.
"Did I say something amusing?"
"No."
"Then stop smiling."
Vincent moved immediately.
Guests were escorted toward the west garden exits while security kept everyone away from the suspicious package.
I didn't touch it.
Neither did Marcus.
That was when I noticed something unusual.
His left hand was shaking.
Marcus had once walked into a warehouse surrounded by armed rivals without showing the slightest fear.
Now he couldn't keep his fingers still.
"Who gave you the box?" I asked.
He swallowed.
"A business associate."
"Name."
"Someone from our overseas operations."
"Name, Marcus."
He glanced toward the corridor.
Then whispered, "You don't understand."
My patience snapped.
"Then help me understand."
His eyes filled with something I had never seen before.
Regret.
"Dante, I didn't have a choice."
Those words hit me harder than any confession.
Before I could respond, a loud crash came from the kitchen entrance.
Clara Alvarez appeared, carrying Sophie against her chest.
The little girl was crying.
"Mr. Moretti!"
Clara's voice trembled.
"My daughter says someone followed her into the kitchen."
I turned immediately.
"Who?"
Sophie buried her face against her mother's shoulder.
Clara looked toward Marcus.
Her expression changed.
"Oh, God."
I felt cold.
"Clara?"
She shook her head.
"Mr. Moretti, that man came to our apartment yesterday."
Marcus closed his eyes.
I stared at him.
"What?"
Clara's hands trembled around Sophie.
"He told me to keep my daughter away from your birthday celebration."
I turned toward Marcus.
"Why?"
He didn't answer.
Then Sophie lifted her head.
Her frightened eyes met mine.
"Uncle Dante?"
I approached gently.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
She whispered six words.
"The bad man said Mama dies."
The room seemed to stop moving.
Clara began crying.
May you like
I looked toward Marcus.
And for the first time in fifteen years, I realized the betrayal might be far bigger than a poisoned gift.
