But then my hand trembles when I reach for my glass.
I freeze. Stare at my fingers. They’ve gone numb. Clumsy.
Across the table, Gia laughs at Nico. Marco is arguing with Renzo about territory. Or respect. Nonna Rosa is clearing plates.
No one notices.
I curl my fingers into a fist. The tremor stops. I force myself to breathe.
Nothing. Just exhaustion.
I’ll sleep tonight, after it’s done.
My tongue goes thick.
I try to swallow. The motion is wrong. Sluggish. Like my body has forgotten how.
The hair on the back of my neck stands. Every survival instinct fires at once.
Cazzo.No.
I turn to Cassia. Try to speak. Try to say her name.
Nothing comes out.
My mouth moves. Forms the shape of the word. But my throat won’t cooperate. Won’t produce sound.
She’s laughing at Gia. She hasn’t noticed yet. None of them have.
I reach for her. My arm doesn’t obey. It moves too slow, too heavy, like I’m underwater.
Cassia.
The name is trapped in my chest.
My vision fractures. The room tilts. Colors bleed together. Candlelight and crystal and the dark wine in my glass, all of it smearing like wet paint.
Fuck. Fuck.
I try to stand. Need to stand. Need to warn them. Need to tell Renzo.
My legs won’t hold me.
The chair tips. Or I tip. I can’t tell anymore. Everything is sideways and wrong and my heart is pounding too fast then too slow then not at all.
Poison.
The word cuts through the fog. Clear. Certain. Too late.
Romano. That son of a bitch.
My shoulder hits the table. Glass shatters. Someone screams.
Then I’m falling.
The floor rushes up. Distant. Like it’s happening to someone else.
I see Cassia’s face.
