Chapter 4
Dr. Bennett arrived within ninety seconds, carrying a compact, leather-bound forensic field kit. The seasoned syndicate physician bypassed the trembling guests, stepping up to the head table under the unblinking watch of forty armed soldiers.
Rocco stood five paces away, still holding Noah against his shoulder, one large, tattooed hand resting protective and firm over his son’s back.
“Analyze the scotch, Robert,” Rocco instructed, his tone conversational and devoid of warmth.
Dr. Bennett unrolled a sterile strip of testing paper, dipped it into the amber liquor, and transferred three drops into a glass vial of clear reagent.
Within four seconds, the liquid in the vial flashed from transparent to an ominous, curdled violet.
Dr. Bennett’s breath hitched in his throat. He looked up, his weathered face tight with professional revulsion.
“Potassium cyanide mixed with liquid chloral hydrate, Don Rocco,” Dr. Bennett announced, his voice echoing off the vaulted limestone ceiling. “A massive lethal dose. Within sixty seconds of ingestion, you would have suffered total cardiac arrest. To any county coroner, it would have appeared as a sudden, massive coronary due to a hereditary heart defect.”
A murmur of raw, boiling fury surged through the loyal capos standing near the doors.
Sal, the veteran commander of the Manhattan docks, took two aggressive steps toward the sofa where Victoria sat paralyzed. “Poisoning the Don in front of his family? You sick, treacherous bitch!”
“Sal,” Rocco said softly.
The single word silenced the entire room.
Rocco turned his slow, predatory stride toward Victoria. Every step was measured, his handmade leather shoes clicking against the limestone with agonizing precision. He stopped two feet from the sofa, looking down at his fiancée.
“You wanted to be the Donna of New York, Victoria,” Rocco murmured, his raspy voice vibrating in the dead silence. “You wanted my mother’s pearls, my father’s estate, and the respect of five families. But you couldn't wait for a natural succession.”
“Rocco… it wasn't my idea!” Victoria wailed, throwing herself onto her knees on the cold floor, her emerald gown trailing in spilled champagne. She reached out with trembling, manicured hands, trying to touch the hem of his trousers. “Marcus forced me! He came to my father’s brownstone three weeks ago! He said if I didn't slip the drops into your drink, his crew would execute my younger brother in Philadelphia!”
“She’s lying through her teeth!” Marcus roared from the center of the bodyguard ring, thrashing against the men holding him. “She came to me, Rocco! She told me you were going soft because of the boy! She said you were planning to liquidate the port authority contracts and put everything into a clean trust for Noah! She promised me the northern terminals if I backed her claim to the estate!”
Rocco looked between them with the clinical detachment of a judge examining two rats in a flooded cellar.
“You both speak of promises,” Rocco said softly. “Yet neither of you remembered the only promise that matters in this house.”
Rocco reached down with his left hand, taking hold of the eight-carat emerald-cut diamond ring on Victoria’s finger. With a slow, merciless twist, he pulled the heavy platinum band off her knuckle.
May you like
He did not pocket the ring. He tossed it onto the limestone floor, where it bounced twice, clinking against the baseboard beside the crushed pieces of Noah’s hearing aid.
“You leashed yourself to a traitor, Victoria,” Rocco whispered. “And now you will share his cage.”
