Page 98 of Ruthless Vow
“Don’t touch me. I’m not leaving him.”
“Cassia.” Giada’s voice. Close. Calm in a way that doesn’t match her white face. “I need to get to him. I need to help him. You have to let me in.”
I stare at her. My hands won’t unclench from his shirt.
“Let me help him,” she says. Softer now. “Please.”
I let go.
She slides in beside me, fingers finding his throat, pressing against the pulse point. Her other hand goes to his chest.
His chest rises. Falls. Rises. I match my breathing to his, tethering myself to each inhale like a rope I can’t let go of.
“Pulse is weak but present.” She pulls back his eyelid, shines a penlight from her pocket. Curses. “His pupils aren’t right. Too small.”
She leans closer, checks his mouth, his skin. “He’s sweating but cold. Breathing too slow. Heart rate dropping.” Her mouth thins. “He’s been poisoned.”
The word hits like a fist to the sternum.
Everything stops.
She’s reaching for her bag. “In the wine or the food. I need to know what.”
Poisoned.
We were just. He was just.
“Renzo!” Giada’s voice sharpens. “Where’s my bag?”
“Pietro’s getting it.”
Lorenzo appears in my peripheral vision. His face is stone.
“What do you need?”
“I need to know what he ingested. Check his glass, the wine, anything he ate that was different from the rest of us.” Her hands move over Dante’s body, clinical, assessing. “And I need the medical wing prepped. Full toxicology setup. IV lines ready. Activated charcoal if we have it.”
“We have it.”
Lorenzo turns, starts issuing orders. His voice carries across the chaos. Sharp. Efficient. Terrifying in its control.
I watch Dante breathe. Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall.
Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.
“Nico.” Giada again. “I need a toxicologist. The best one in the state. I don’t care what it costs. I need them here in less than an hour.”
Nico has his phone out. His charm has vanished. His easy smile is gone. He dials without hesitation. His voice drops an octave. No wasted motion.
“I know someone at Tulane. Owes me a favor.” He’s already talking before I process the words. “I’ll get him here.”
He moves toward the hallway, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and rapid.
“Marco.”
Giada’s voice makes Marco flinch. He’s standing by the table, frozen, face blank with shock. He looks young. Too young. A boy watching his brother die on the dining room floor.
“Marco, I need you to focus. Can you do that?”
