Chapter 11 - POISON IN THE GLASS
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The tension in the ballroom was thick enough to choke on as the orchestra resumed playing a tense waltz.
Arthur caught my eye from across the marble floor and gave a subtle hand signal.
Moretti's men were moving toward the service exits, coordinating an ambush outside.
"Stay right here beside Arthur," I instructed Clary, leaning down to press a firm kiss against her temple.
Her skin was warm and smelled of vanilla and wild roses.
"I need to check our extraction route."
"Don't take too long," she whispered, her fingers lingering against my palm before releasing me.
The moment I slipped through the security corridor behind the bar, Elena Moretti approached Clary, flanked by two hulking bodyguards.
Elena held two glasses of vintage champagne, her red lips curved into a deceptive smile.
"You certainly know how to play the innocent victim, little girl," Elena sneered, holding out a glass.
"Let's make a toast to your sudden good fortune."
Clary looked at the glass, her instincts honed by years of street survival screaming in warning.
"I don't drink champagne, Miss Moretti."
Elena stepped closer, her voice dropping into a vicious hiss that only Clary could hear.
"My father runs this city, you filthy beggar."
"Declan Knox is going to be dead before midnight."
"Drink this glass, or my men will visit your precious little brother at his physical therapy clinic tomorrow morning and finish what they started."
Clary's heart hammered against her ribs, but she didn't flinch.
She took the glass from Elena's manicured fingers.
She glanced down into the golden liquid and noticed the faint, powdery residue swirling at the bottom of the crystal flute.
Arsenic.
Moretti didn't want to shoot Declan in a crowded room; they wanted Clary to slip poison into his celebratory drink.
"Well?" Elena pressed with a cruel smirk.
"Drink it to seal the deal, or give it to Declan when he returns."
Clary looked Elena straight in the eyes.
Without a word, Clary tipped the entire glass of poisoned champagne directly onto Elena's white couture silk dress.
The liquid soaked through the fabric, staining it yellow and ruining the twenty-thousand-dollar designer gown.
Elena shrieked in horror, clutching her soaked bodice.
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"You miserable bitch!"
Before Elena's guards could lunge forward, the lights in the grand ballroom abruptly went black.
