Chapter 3 - The Taste of Arsenic
The heavy steel of the gun gleamed under the dim restaurant lights.
Tessa stared at the weapon, her mind racing to comprehend the impossible accusation.
"I didn't poison anything," Tessa said, keeping her voice steady despite the ice running through her veins.
Gabriel immediately stood up, positioning his body slightly between Tessa and his father.
"Dad, put the gun away before someone calls the police."
Salvatore ignored his son, keeping his cold, dead eyes fixed entirely on Tessa.
"The garlic is burnt to hide the bitter taste of white arsenic."
Salvatore leaned closer, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper.
"I survived three assassination attempts in the seventies, girl."
"I know what death tastes like before it even hits my stomach."
Tessa shook her head, taking a slow step back toward the kitchen doors.
"I prepared that steak myself from the prime rack."
"Nobody else touched the plate."
Salvatore smiled, but it was a vicious, bloodthirsty expression.
"Exactly."
He slid the plate across the table toward Gabriel.
"Eat it, Gabriel."
The entire dining room seemed to hold its collective breath.
Gabriel looked at the steak, then looked at his father with burning, furious eyes.
"You're paranoid, old man."
"If you trust this waitress so much, take a bite," Salvatore challenged, tapping the gun barrel.
Gabriel picked up the fork without hesitation, cutting a piece of the meat.
Tessa lunged forward, slapping the fork out of Gabriel's hand with a loud smack.
The piece of meat bounced across the pristine white tablecloth.
"Don't eat it," Tessa yelled, her chest heaving with panic.
She realized something horrifying about the prep station in the kitchen.
When she was chopping the garlic, Richard had handed her the salt cellar.
Richard, who had been sweating, shaking, and desperate for her to take this specific table.
Salvatore chuckled darkly, picking up his gun and aiming it squarely at Tessa's chest.
"So, the little peasant confesses."
"It wasn't me," Tessa shouted, pointing toward the back of the restaurant.
"It was Richard, the manager."
Gabriel immediately spun around, scanning the floor for the man who had been hovering all night.
The manager's station was completely empty.
One of the bodyguards sprinted toward the kitchen doors, kicking them open violently.
A moment later, he returned, his face pale and grim.
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"Don Salvatore," the bodyguard announced loudly.
"The manager is dead on the kitchen floor with a slit throat."
