The first glass was champagne.
The second was meant for me.
And when Luca Moretti saw the businessman slide it across the table, he asked a question that made his fiancée stop smiling.
“Why does she have to drink anything?”
Twenty minutes earlier, I had been invisible.
That was how I preferred it.
My name was Emma Bennett. I was twenty-six years old, a waitress at the Moretti estate, and I needed every dollar of my paycheck to cover my mother’s medical bills.
Tonight, fifty guests had gathered for a private dinner celebrating Luca Moretti’s upcoming wedding.
Crystal chandeliers sparkled above the tables.
Champagne flowed.
And Isabella Romano, Luca’s beautiful fiancée, was enjoying every second of being the center of attention.
Until she noticed me.
“Emma!”
I stopped beside the dessert station.
“Yes, Miss Romano?”
She smiled and gestured toward the man seated beside her.
“Mr. Victor Hale would like a drink with you.”
Hale was a wealthy businessman in his fifties, with silver hair and a gold watch that probably cost more than my car.
He smiled.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
I approached carefully.
“Can I get you something, sir?”
He lifted his champagne glass.
“Just your company.”
My stomach tightened.
“I should get back to serving.”
Isabella laughed.
“Oh, don’t be rude.”
Hale reached for a second glass.
It was already filled.
He slid it toward me.
“Just one toast.”
I shook my head.
“Thank you, sir, but I don’t drink while working.”
Isabella’s smile disappeared.
“Emma.”
I looked at her.
“DRINK WITH HIM OR LOSE YOUR JOB!”
The words rang across the dining room.
Several guests turned.
My face burned.
“Miss Romano, please—”
She leaned closer.
“You need this job, don’t you?”
I swallowed.
She knew about my mother.
She knew about the hospital bills.
And she knew I couldn’t afford to be fired.
Hale pushed the glass closer.
“Come on, sweetheart. It’s only champagne.”
But something about the glass bothered me.
The liquid looked slightly cloudy.
And unlike every other champagne glass on the table, it had no bubbles.
I stared at it.
Then I noticed a tiny white residue clinging to the inside.
My pulse quickened.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I can’t.”
Isabella stood.
“You ungrateful little—”
“What’s going on?”
The voice came from behind me.
Deep.
Calm.
Dangerously calm.
Luca Moretti stood at the entrance to the dining room.
Thirty-seven years old.
Black suit.
Dark eyes.
Chicago’s most feared mafia boss.
He looked at Isabella.
Then Hale.
Then the untouched glass in front of me.
“Emma,” he said, “why aren’t you serving the other guests?”
I opened my mouth.
But Isabella answered first.
“Darling, Victor was being generous. He offered Emma a glass of champagne, and she’s making a scene.”
Luca’s eyes moved toward Hale.
“Did he?”
Hale chuckled.
“Just trying to be friendly.”
Luca stepped closer.
His gaze settled on the second glass.
Then on my trembling hands.
“Emma, did you ask for a drink?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you want one?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Luca looked directly at Isabella.
“Then why does she have to drink anything?”
Silence.
Isabella laughed nervously.
“Luca, you’re overreacting.”
He didn’t blink.
“She said no.”
Hale lifted both hands.
“There’s no need to make this unpleasant.”
Luca turned toward him.
“Then take your glass back.”
Hale’s smile faltered.
“Of course.”
He reached for it.
But Luca placed one hand on the table.
“Not that one.”
Hale froze.
Luca pointed toward the champagne glass already in Hale’s hand.
“Drink from hers.”
The businessman went pale.
“What?”
“You offered Emma a toast. Surely you wouldn’t mind drinking what you offered her.”
Nobody spoke.
Hale slowly lowered his glass.
“I’m not thirsty anymore.”
Luca’s expression hardened.
“Interesting.”
Isabella stepped between them.
“Darling, stop embarrassing our guest.”
Luca ignored her.
He turned toward his security chief.
“Marco.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Take that glass. Have it tested. Preserve the contents.”
Hale stood abruptly.
“This is ridiculous.”
Luca looked at him.
“Sit down.”
Two words.
The businessman sat.
I could barely breathe.
Marco carefully removed the glass from the table.
Then Luca turned toward me.
“Emma.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Has anyone else asked you to drink tonight?”
I hesitated.
Because there was something I hadn’t told him.
Something that had happened in the kitchen twenty minutes earlier.
Isabella had handed me a small silver tray with two champagne glasses.
One was for Hale.
The other was for me.
But before I carried them out, I had seen Hale standing near the service counter.
He’d taken a tiny bottle from his jacket.
And poured something into one glass.
When he noticed me watching, he smiled.
“Just a little something to make the evening more interesting.”
I hadn’t understood what he meant.
Not until now.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, “I saw him put something in the drink.”
