Chapter 7 - The Gala of Ghosts
Dante stumbled backward, his hand flying to his chest.
He looked at me with wild eyes, searching his memory for when he could have been poisoned.
I remembered the glass of bourbon he had poured for us in the office earlier that afternoon.
I had barely touched mine, but Dante had finished his entire glass.
He insisted he felt fine, but his skin was already turning an unnatural shade of gray.
We rushed back to his penthouse so his private mob doctor could examine him.
Dr. Rossi ran a rapid toxicology screen in the impromptu medical bay.
The doctor's face turned grim as he looked at the blood test results.
He confirmed that Dante had been dosed with a slow-acting, synthetic neurotoxin.
He had exactly twelve hours to live unless we could find the specific antidote.
Dante refused to lie down and die quietly.
He knew Clara would not hide in the shadows while he suffered.
He told me there was an annual syndicate gala happening tonight at the Grand Hotel.
It was a neutral ground where all the Chicago crime families gathered once a year.
Dante believed Clara would attend the gala to watch her empire fall into her hands.
I dressed in a stunning, backless red gown provided by Dante's tailors.
He wore a tailored black tuxedo that perfectly hid the shoulder holster strapped to his chest.
We walked into the grand ballroom, drawing the attention of every dangerous man in the city.
The room was filled with crystal chandeliers, expensive champagne, and deadly secrets.
I scanned the crowd, searching for the face I had seen in my brother's painting.
Suddenly, the grand ballroom doors locked with a heavy, ominous click.
The orchestral music stopped abruptly, plunging the room into dead silence.
May you like
A woman in a beautiful black dress stepped out onto the grand balcony above the dance floor.
It was Clara Marino, alive, smiling, and looking directly at me.
