Page 1 of Venomous Throne

Chapter 1 – Isabella

“Good morning! Welcome to Moretti Dodge, Chrysler, Chevy Superstore! How can I help you today?” I asked, crossing the baking asphalt as the sunlight bounced off the shiny new paint of the latest models.

“Hi, we’re looking for Vincent,” the tan, squeaky Ken Doll said. “Junior here passed his driver’s test, and we’re getting him some wheels.”

I gave the kid a warm smile, but he wore his mother’s pinched, sour expression.

What a lovely family.

“Is Vincent in today? If not, can you call him up? He won’t want to miss Junior’s big day.” Ken Doll smirked and squeezed his son’s shoulders.

The murderous look that flashed across the son's face was one I was all too familiar with. Keep quiet and let the feelings fester until the bottle explodes from pressure.

“Vincent is unavailable,” I began carefully, “but I’m happy to help—”

“No,” the dad drawled, wagging his finger at me as though I were a naughty child. “It’s gotta be Vincent. He’s the best.”

He’s the best.

Too many customers had said the exact same thing over the past few weeks. How little they actually knew…. The words sent my spine ramrod straight.

“Vincent is unavailable,” I repeated.

Don’t make me say it.

Ken Doll frowned. The effect was comical because the muscles in his face were frozen just enough by an injectable toxin that they didn’t move properly.

“Look, lady, you don’t know who I am. Robert Bradley. I own five restaurants in this county alone. My brother-in-law plays golf with the governor every Sunday. I’ve bought seventeen cars in the last decade, and Vincent handled every single one.” He pulled out his wallet, flashing a platinum card. “I could buy this entire lot in cash if I wanted to. When I call Vincent later to tell him how I was treated here, you’ll be lucky if you still have a job.”

The son’s eyes rolled so hard I thought they might fall out of his head.

“Sir,” I said, keeping my voice level despite the burning in my chest, “I can’t do that.”

His deeply tanned face glowed with a rush of red. “I’m calling Vincent now.”

There were two ways to handle this. The first was to keep my polite, professional facade and explain exactly what had happened.

I went with option two. “Funny that you claim to be so close with my late husband, yet you haven’t heard that he’s dead.”

Ken Doll paused, phone hovering below his ear.

“Yeah, that’s right,” I said with a sugary sweet voice. “Dead, gone, zip-pop, goodbye! Buried six feet under with no hope ofresurrection. So…you can drop the good-old-boys act, deal with me, and find your son a wonderful new car, or not.”

The mother’s look of constipation eased. She seemed impressed someone stood up to her jackass of a husband. It was probably a first.

It gave me the touch of courage I needed to continue.

“You’re dealing with me now. And I’m happy to help you, but I won’t be pushed around.” I drew myself up to my full height, cursing myself for wearing flats today. But my toes were freshly painted, and the sandals showed them off.

The Ken Doll considered my declarations. “Vincent’s dead, huh? Well, where’s Marco?”

Oh, Santa Caterina!

“Marco doesn’t work here.” And if the saints smiled on me, my brother-in-law would never step foot in one of my car lots ever again.

“What can you tell me about the safety specs on that red SUV over there?” the mother asked, pointing to a small crossover.

“The Dodge Durango is an excellent first vehicle,” I beamed, happy to be dealing with someone who had common courtesy. “It handles great in the winter with the proper tires.”