Chapter 5 - The Blood in the EspressoThe transition from Ilvento waitress to private dining coordinator for the Rossi household was smoother than I expected, yet infinitely more dangerous.
Within two weeks, I had learned the intricate hierarchies of the household. I learned which capos were loyal to Gabriel, which old-guard syndicates were quietly plotting against Salvatore, and how to read the subtle shifts in body language that meant a meeting in the study was about to turn violent.
Salvatore treated me like a surrogate granddaughter, demanding I share lunch with him every day and quizzing me on recipes from western Sicily. Gabriel, on the other hand, was a constant, brooding presence. He observed me from a distance, testing my boundaries, making sure I understood the gravity of the secrets I was now privy to.
Then came Thursday.
It was raining hard, a torrential downpour that lashed against the tall glass windows of the townhouse. Salvatore was resting in his private quarters upstairs, and Gabriel was locked in his study with two senior capos—Vincenzo and Rico—discussing a disputed shipping dock in Brooklyn.
I was in the ground-floor kitchen, preparing a fresh round of doppio espresso for the men in the study.
As I poured the steaming dark liquid into three delicate porcelain cups, I noticed something strange.
The metallic scent of the kitchen—usually dominated by fresh coffee beans and lemon cleaner—carried a faint, bitter undertone.
I stopped, my hand hovering over the sugar bowl.
I leaned down, sniffing the crema of the third cup—the cup designated for Gabriel.
It didn't smell like roasted arabica. It smelled of almonds.
Cyanide.
My blood ran ice-cold. Someone in the household staff—someone with access to the kitchen while my back was turned—had poisoned the espresso.
My mind raced. If I screamed, the killer might escape into the townhouse. If I took the tray upstairs and let them drink, Gabriel and his capos would be dead within minutes, and the Rossi empire would plunge into an all-out civil war.
Without thinking, I dumped the poisoned cup down the sink, rinsed it frantically, and replaced it with a fresh brew from a backup pot. I arranged the three cups on a silver tray, picked it up, and walked out of the kitchen with my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
When I reached the heavy mahogany doors of Gabriel’s study, I didn't knock. I pushed them open with my knee.
Gabriel looked up from a map spread across his desk, his brow furrowed in irritation. “Tessa, I said no interruptions.”
“I brought the coffee, Mr. Rossi,” I said, my voice unnaturally steady as I walked across the room and placed the silver tray on the desk.
Vincenzo, a burly capo with a broken nose, reached eagerly for his cup. Rico reached for his.
Gabriel reached for the third.
As Gabriel’s fingers brushed the handle of the porcelain cup, I did something completely insane.
I reached out and knocked the cup off the desk.
Crash.
Fine porcelain shattered against the hardwood floor, dark espresso splashing across Gabriel’s polished leather shoes.
Silence descended on the study.
May you like
Vincenzo and Rico jumped to their feet, their hands flying to their holsters. Gabriel sat completely still, staring down at the puddle of coffee at his feet before slowly raising his eyes to mine. His expression was no longer irritated. It was lethally calm.
“Tessa,” Gabriel whispered, his voice dropping into a dark, frozen register. “Explain yourself before Vincenzo decides to see if you bleed.”
