Chapter 1 - The Cut Before Breakfast
“There's a bug in your tie!”
Dante Moretti barely had time to look down.
Four-year-old Lily Castellanos closed the blue dolphin-shaped safety scissors around the lower half of his handmade black silk tie.
Snip.
The severed piece fluttered onto the ivory marble floor of the Moretti mansion.
For half a second, nobody moved.
Then four pistols appeared.
Marco Bellini drew first.
Three members of the morning security detail followed him, jackets snapping open, hands moving with the reflexes of men trained to survive hesitation.
Dante raised one hand.
“Stand down.”
His voice was quiet.
That made everyone obey faster.
The pistols lowered.
Elena Castellanos came running from the breakfast corridor, her gray housekeeping skirt brushing the polished floor.
“Lily!”
She swept her daughter backward against her body.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti. God, I’m so sorry. Her babysitter canceled, and Mrs. Perez said she could stay in the staff room until—”
“Elena.”
Dante was not looking at her.
He was looking at the silk on the floor.
“What did she say?”
Lily peeked around her mother.
“There’s a bug.”
Dante crouched.
He picked up the severed section and ran a thumb across the lining.
The stitching felt wrong.
He tore two stitches loose.
Something metallic glinted between the layers.
Marco stopped breathing for an instant.
Dante pulled out a copper-colored device smaller than his thumbnail.
A microphone.
A transmitter.
The entrance hall became completely silent.
At ten o’clock that morning, representatives of New York’s five most powerful Mafia families were supposed to enter that room.
No phones.
No outside security.
No electronic records.
The meeting had taken six months to arrange.
And Dante’s tie had been listening.
“Cancel the meeting,” he said.
Marco immediately reached for his phone.
Dante’s eyes lifted toward Lily.
“Sweetheart.”
Elena stiffened at the gentleness in his voice.
“Who put this in my tie?”
Lily pointed toward the mansion’s front doors.
“The man in the tailor shop.”
Marco looked up sharply.
Dante did not.
“When did you see him?”
“When Mommy got the clothes.”
Elena swallowed.
“Three days ago. Mr. Victor asked me to collect a garment box from Bellucci’s because their delivery van had broken down. Lily was with me.”
Dante finally turned to Marco.
Marco was already scrolling through purchasing records.
His thumb stopped.
His expression changed.
“Victor ordered the ties.”
The doorbell rang.
Every head turned.
Beyond the frosted glass stood the silhouette of a man in a three-piece suit holding a gray felt hat.
Dante recognized the posture.
Victor Romano.
His father’s lieutenant.
His adviser.
A man who had carried Dante on his shoulders at age six and taught him how to identify a liar before Dante was old enough to shave.
The door handle moved.
Dante straightened.
“Don’t tell him.”
Marco slipped the phone into his pocket.
Elena pulled Lily closer.
Victor entered beneath the chandelier.
He smiled at Dante.
“Morning.”
His gaze dropped.
He saw the mutilated tie.
Then the copper device in Dante’s hand.
The smile disappeared.
Dante watched his face carefully.
Victor did not ask what the object was.
He asked something worse.
“Where did you find that?”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
Dante held the device between two fingers.
“In the tie you bought me.”
Victor stared at him.
Then at Lily.
Then at Marco.
“No,” he said.
Dante had known Victor long enough to distinguish surprise from fear.
This was both.
“Who handled the order?” Dante asked.
“I did.”
“Who chose Bellucci?”
“I did.”
“Who knew which tie I’d wear today?”
Victor hesitated.
That hesitation changed the room.
Dante’s voice became colder.
“Victor.”
“You told me last night.”
“So did Marco.”
Marco stepped forward.
“Careful.”
Victor looked at him.
Something old and poisonous passed between the two men.
Dante noticed it.
So did Elena.
Lily stared at Victor’s silver watch.
Then she stared at Marco’s right wrist.
Her small face tightened in concentration.
Elena felt her daughter tug at her apron.
“Mommy.”
“Not now.”
Lily whispered louder.
“The lightning.”
Dante heard her.
“What lightning?”
Lily pointed at Marco.
Marco looked down.
His shirt cuff had shifted when he reached for his phone.
A pale, jagged burn scar crossed the inside of his wrist.
Lily’s eyes widened.
“The man in the store had lightning too.”
Nobody moved.
Marco slowly pulled his cuff down.
Victor’s expression changed first.
Not triumph.
Recognition.
Dante looked from the man who had ordered the tie to the man who had guarded him for fifteen years.
The morning had begun with scissors.
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Now it had become an execution without a weapon fired.
And for the first time in his adult life, Dante Moretti did not know which of the two men beside him wanted him dead.
