Chapter 4 - The Dinner Table Truce
The dining room chandelier cast a warm, golden glow over the imported Italian marble table.
Plates of roasted lamb and wild rice sat untouched as Elena gracefully sliced a piece of meat for Lila, her movements as fluid and rehearsed as a concert pianist's.
"Eat your vegetables, sweetheart," Elena said, smiling down at our daughter.
Lila poked her fork listlessly at the plate. "Mommy, my eyes are burning. It feels like tiny needles are poking behind my eyelids."
My grip on my fork tightened so hard the silver metal bent under my thumb. I looked across the table at my wife. Her expression morphed into one of heartbreaking, flawless maternal concern. She immediately stood up, walking around the table to kneel beside Lila's chair.
"Oh, my poor baby," Elena whispered, pressing her cheek against Lila's golden curls. "It's just the inflammation from the optic nerve degradation. Dr. Sterling warned us the pain would increase before the vision vanished entirely. Don't worry, darling. Mommy has a special batch of herbal drops I'm brewing tonight. It always makes the pain go away."
Herbal drops.
The words echoed in my skull like the tolling of a funeral bell.
"No," I said.
Elena paused, looking up from Lila's chair. Her amber eyes met mine across the table, carrying a subtle, chilling warning beneath their veneer of innocence.
"No what, Vincent?" she asked softly.
"No more drops," I said, standing up from my chair so abruptly that it scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. "No more tonics. No more secret recipes from the kitchen."
Elena slowly rose to her feet, smoothing the front of her dress. The gentle, grieving mother vanished in the blink of an eye, replaced by a woman who looked at me with an eerie, unblinking stillness.
"Vincent, are you questioning my care for our daughter?" she asked, her voice dropping all pretense of warmth. "After everything I have sacrificed to keep this family together while you play god with your criminal empire?"
"I am questioning everything, Elena," I said, walking around the table until I stood inches from her. I towered over her by half a foot, but she didn't step back. She didn't flinch. She just stared up at me with those cold, beautiful eyes.
"Be careful, Vincent," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the dining room lights. "Men who look too closely at things they aren't meant to see often find out they're entirely disposable."
May you like
Before I could answer, my secure satellite phone buzzed sharply inside my jacket pocket.
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