Chapter 2 - THE WARNING BEHIND MY BACK
The cold object pressed harder against my spine.
“Don't say another word,” the man behind me whispered.
Dominic Rinaldi was still holding his wineglass.
Across the table, Celeste watched me with an expression that looked almost like satisfaction.
I could barely breathe.
The object behind my back was small and hard, concealed beneath the edge of my waitress's jacket. I couldn't see it, but the man holding it wanted me to believe it was a gun.
And judging by the way his hand trembled, he was frightened enough to use one.
“Mara.”
Dominic's voice was calm.
“I'm waiting.”
I stared at the crystal glass in his hand.
“Sir, please put that down.”
One of the attorneys gave a nervous laugh.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
Dominic didn't look at him.
“Why?”
The man behind me shifted.
His sleeve brushed my arm.
I smelled expensive cologne mixed with the unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke.
Then I recognized his voice.
It belonged to Victor Hale, the restaurant's head of private security.
He was the man who had checked my identification when I arrived for my shift.
And he was supposed to be protecting everyone in this room.
“Because,” I said carefully, “the glass wasn't empty when the wine was poured.”
Dominic lowered it another inch.
Celeste leaned forward.
“What does that even mean?”
“The sommelier brought a clean glass earlier. I saw him polish it. But when he came back, there was already a small amount of clear liquid inside.”
The room became painfully quiet.
“I noticed it because the bottom caught the chandelier light differently.”
Victor pressed the object harder against my back.
“Enough,” he breathed.
Dominic noticed something.
His eyes moved from my face to the narrow space behind my shoulder.
Then he made a decision.
“Victor.”
The security chief stiffened.
“Sir?”
“Take your hand away from my waitress.”
Nobody moved.
Dominic placed his glass on the table.
“I won't ask twice.”
Victor stepped back.
For one terrible second, I thought he might pull a weapon.
Instead, he raised both hands.
“I was trying to keep her from upsetting your guests, Mr. Rinaldi.”
Dominic's expression didn't change.
“Then explain why she's shaking.”
Victor looked at me.
It was the kind of look that promised consequences.
“I didn't touch her.”
I wanted to tell the truth.
But Victor's other hand was inside his jacket, and I had no idea what else he was carrying.
Dominic stood.
“Everyone stays where they are.”
Celeste pushed back her chair.
“Dominic, this is absurd. She's a waitress trying to get attention.”
“Sit down, Celeste.”
His voice was sharper now.
She stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Sit. Down.”
For the first time that evening, she obeyed.
Dominic approached me.
Up close, he looked different from the photographs in business magazines.
Older. More tired.
There were faint lines around his eyes, and his expression carried something I hadn't expected.
Concern.
“Did someone threaten you?”
I hesitated.
Victor was watching.
Then Dominic said something that made the entire room listen.
“Whatever happens next, you are under my protection.”
I almost laughed.
Protection.
That was a lovely word when spoken by a billionaire.
But my mother lived in a small Queens apartment with a broken front lock, and my younger brother walked home from evening classes through streets where nobody knew Dominic Rinaldi's name.
I couldn't afford to trust promises.
So I answered the question I could answer.
“I saw a man standing behind the sommelier. He touched the base of your glass while everyone was looking at the document.”
Dominic turned.
“Which man?”
I pointed toward the service station.
Nobody was there.
The sommelier, a silver-haired Frenchman named Laurent, looked genuinely terrified.
“He was here,” I insisted. “Dark suit. Blue tie. He had a silver watch with a cracked face.”
One attorney suddenly dropped his pen.
It struck the marble floor with a sharp sound.
Dominic looked toward him.
“Andrew?”
Andrew Mercer, the attorney who had explained the Italian annotation, bent to retrieve it.
“My apologies.”
But his face had gone pale.
Dominic looked back at me.
“What kind of watch?”
“Square face. Silver band. The glass was cracked near the twelve.”
Something changed in his expression.
He reached into his jacket and removed his phone.
“Find Samuel Voss,” he told someone. “Immediately.”
Celeste stood again.
“Samuel is in Zurich.”
Dominic looked at her.
“I didn't ask where you thought he was.”
The name meant nothing to me.
But apparently it meant something to everyone else.
Because Andrew Mercer suddenly looked toward the exit.
Dominic noticed.
“Andrew. Leave your phone on the table.”
Mercer reluctantly obeyed.
Then Dominic took the leather folder and opened it again.
“Mara, come here.”
I approached.
He pointed toward the handwritten Italian sentence.
“Read this. Exactly.”
I swallowed.
“Il trasferimento avrà efficacia esclusivamente previa certificazione della morte del beneficiario designato.”
One attorney leaned back.
Dominic's fingers tightened around the folder.
“Translate it.”
“The transfer becomes effective only after certification of the designated beneficiary's death.”
Celeste's champagne glass slipped against her plate.
The sound made everyone flinch.
Dominic stared at the document.
Then he spoke very slowly.
“Beneficiary. Not shareholder?”
“No, sir.”
“Death. Not resignation?”
“No.”
His eyes closed briefly.
When he opened them, the businessman who had frightened half of Manhattan was gone.
In his place stood a man who had just realized he'd been betrayed.
“Who is the designated beneficiary?” he asked.
Andrew Mercer said nothing.
Dominic lifted the page.
“Andrew.”
Mercer swallowed.
“The provision references an attached schedule.”
“Where?”
“It wasn't included in the materials I received.”
Dominic studied him.
“Then who removed it?”
Before Mercer could answer, my manager appeared in the doorway.
“Mr. Rinaldi, I apologize for interrupting, but there's an urgent situation downstairs.”
Dominic didn't move.
“What situation?”
My manager glanced at me.
Then he said something that turned my blood cold.
“Miss Bennett's mother is here.”
My heart stopped.
“My mother?”
He nodded miserably.
“She says someone brought her from Queens. She's frightened, and she's asking for you.”
I stepped toward the door.
Victor immediately moved to block me.
Dominic caught his wrist.
“Get out of her way.”
Victor obeyed.
I hurried into the hallway, Dominic following close behind.
We reached the private elevator.
My manager pressed the button with trembling fingers.
“Where is she?” I demanded.
“The downstairs sitting room.”
The doors opened.
Inside stood an elderly woman wearing my mother's faded blue winter coat.
For one beautiful second, I thought it was her.
Then the woman turned.
She wasn't my mother.
She was a stranger.
And she was holding my mother's silver rosary.
The woman looked directly at me.
“Mara Bennett?”
I nodded.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Your mother told me to give you this.”
She placed the rosary in my hand.
Wrapped around its small silver cross was a narrow strip of paper.
I unfolded it.
There were only six words.
THEY HAVE YOUR BROTHER. DON'T TRUST DOMINIC.
And beneath the message was something that made Dominic go completely still.
My mother's signature.
May you like
Except the surname wasn't Bennett.
It was Rinaldi.
