Chapter 4 — Poisoned Trust

Dominic

The crystal decanter caught the late afternoon sunlight filtering through Villa Russo's bulletproof windows, fracturing amber shadows across my father's antique mahogany desk. Marco's hands moved with practiced elegance as he poured the Macallan 25, but my attention snagged on the barely perceptible tremor in his usually steady grip – a detail that sent fifteen years of survival instincts into high alert.