Chapter 2 - THE POISON IN THE GLASS
The clear liquid struck Christian’s water goblet with a soft, deadly chime.
Time stopped inside the dining room of Le Jardin Noir. The rain battered the windows, but inside, the only sound was Vivian’s ragged breathing. She gripped her torn glove, pulling it tight against her chest.
Christian Callahan did not shout. He did not reach for the gun hidden beneath his tailored jacket. He simply stared at the ruined prosthetic finger, and then at the cloudy drop of liquid dissolving into his ice water.
“Ricin,” Christian said quietly. His voice carried the weight of a judge reading a final sentence. “Tasteless. Odorless. Fatal in three hours.”
He looked up at the woman he was supposed to marry.
“You missed.”
Vivian stepped backward, her chair scraping violently against the hardwood floor. “Christian, wait—”
“Did you order this, Leo?” Christian’s gaze snapped to Romanov.
Romanov held up his hands, his smile fading into a cautious grimace. “I’m a businessman, Christian. I don’t hide poison in a woman’s hand. If I wanted you dead tonight, I’d have shot you in the parking lot.”
Answer One: Romanov didn’t orchestrate the poisoning.
Sophie backed away, her hands still trembling from dropping the silver fork. She had exposed an assassination. The terrifying reality of the room crashed over her. She was a witness.
Antoine, the manager, moved quickly to lock the heavy double doors leading to the lobby. The deadbolt clicked with finality.
“Nobody leaves,” Antoine announced.
Christian slowly stood up. He walked toward Vivian, his dark eyes hollow. “You’ve worn those gloves for two years. You told me it was nerve damage from a fire. How long has the vial been in there, Vivian? How long have you been waiting to kill me?”
“I didn’t want to!” Vivian cried, her pristine facade shattering. Tears ruined her immaculate makeup. She looked at Sophie, not with the cruelty from ten minutes ago, but with sheer, desperate panic. “You stupid girl. You weren’t supposed to be near the table.”
Reversal: Vivian wasn’t a cold-blooded killer executing a master plan. She was terrified of failing.
“Who forced you?” Christian demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders.
Vivian sobbed, shaking her head. “They said if I didn’t do it tonight, they would send me another piece of him.”
Open Two: Who is forcing her, and who are they threatening?
Christian froze. He released her, his eyes narrowing. He snatched Vivian’s expensive emerald clutch from the table and ripped it open, ignoring the diamonds and lipstick that scattered across the mahogany table.
He reached inside and pulled out a worn, wooden object.
He held it up to the candlelight.
Sophie’s heart stopped. She took a step forward before she could stop herself.
Dangling from Christian’s fingers was a handmade wooden rosary. The beads were chipped. The silver cross was slightly bent.
“Where did you get this?” Christian asked Vivian softly.
Sophie didn’t wait for Vivian to answer. The fear for her own life vanished, replaced by a sudden, protective fury.
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“That belongs to my mother,” Sophie whispered, stepping into the candlelight.
TITLE: The Manager’s Cold Gun
