Chapter 2
The plate went into a sealed kitchen container.
Not because I wanted police.
I did not.
Because I wanted no one touching it until our own physician examined what Warren had placed there.
The wedding continued in another room under the excuse of a catering accident.
The bride, Sofia Marlowe, knew something was wrong.
She was not stupid.
Neither was my son Lorenzo, her new husband.
I told them enough.
“Do not eat anything from that service table.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
“Who?”
“Warren.”
Sofia looked surprised.
Then worried.
“Why me?”
That was the question.
Warren was a Pike relative through my late wife’s side of the family. Close enough to attend everything. Far enough from command that nobody watched him carefully.
Useful position.
Invisible ambition.
Our physician returned thirty minutes later.
“It was a sedating substance.”
No useful details.
I did not want them.
“Dangerous?”
“Potentially, especially mixed with alcohol. More likely to leave someone disoriented, weak, confused.”
I looked toward the reception hall.
Champagne.
Wine.
Hundreds of witnesses.
“What would she look like?”
“Impaired.”
There.
Not necessarily dead.
Humiliated.
Unreliable.
Out of control.
I turned toward Beatrice.
She had been waiting in a private salon under guard.
“What happens after Sofia appears drunk at her own wedding?”
Her face stayed composed.
Too composed.
I continued.
“Who benefits?”
Nothing.
Lorenzo answered from behind me.
“The harbor agreement.”
I turned.
His expression had changed.
Sofia’s family controlled access to two waterfront routes.
The marriage would strengthen the partnership between Marlowe and Bianchi.
One branch would lose influence.
The Pikes.
I looked back at Beatrice.
A bride collapsing at her own reception would not merely ruin a photograph.
It could make the Marlowes believe my house had humiliated their daughter.
May you like
And the Pikes would remain exactly where they were.
In the middle.
