Romano’s eyes find the vial. What’s left of his face goes white.
“Carmine’s recipe.” I turn it in the light. “He used it on the Calabresi family back in ’78. They thought they could move against him. Carmine invited them to dinner.”
I crouch down. Eye level.
“Twelve men. One dinner. None of them made it home.”
“Lorenzo. Please.”
“Fast enough that you know what’s happening. Slow enough that you feel everything.”
His mouth opens. Closes. The begging dies in his throat.
“You poisoned my brother. At our table. In front of our family.” I uncork the vial. “Poison for poison.”
He tries to turn his head. I grab his jaw. Broken fingers scrabble at my wrist. No effect.
“Open.”
He doesn’t. I pinch his nose. Wait. He has to breathe sometime.
The liquid goes down. He chokes, gags, tries to spit it out. Too late.
I release him. Step back. Watch.
It starts with tremors. His hands first, then his arms, then his whole body shaking. Then the burning. I see it in his face. His eyes go wide. His mouth opens in a silent scream.
He looks at me. Pleading.
I don’t look away.
This is what Dante felt. The confusion. The terror. His body turning against itself.
Is he still alive?
Is Gia keeping him breathing?
Is Cassia watching the monitors?
I don’t know. I’ve been down here for hours.
The thought lodges in my chest. Blade-deep.
If Dante dies.
I don’t finish the thought.
Romano convulses. Foam at his mouth. His heels drum against the floor.
I watch. My hands hang at my sides. The water made them clean. They’re still clean.
The convulsions slow. His breathing turns ragged. Wet.
Romano’s chest rises. Falls. Rises.
Stops.
I stand over the body. The basement is quiet. Just the hum of the pipes. The drip of water in the dark.
