Chapter 2: A Toast to Family
The DiTocco ballroom was a cage of light and sound. Chandeliers hung like frozen explosions of crystal, scattering shards of illumination over a sea of black tuxedos and gowns that cost more than most people's cars. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of tuberose and gardenia from monstrous floral arrangements, undercut by the sharper notes of expensive alcohol and alpha musk. Caius moved through it like a shark through warm water—smooth, silent, and utterly aware of every current.
His black satin shirt was a dark blot against the glitter, the high collar perfectly framing the diamond choker Nino had given him. It wasn't a gift. It was a claim. Caius found the weight of it agreeable; it was, after all, just another type of collar, and he was used to those. This one just happened to sparkle.
Nino was a fixed point of gravity across the room, surrounded by older men with hard eyes and easy smiles. His uncle, Silvio, was holding court, a hand on Nino’s shoulder in a gesture that looked familial but felt, from this distance, like a clamp. Silvio’s voice, a reedy rasp, carried just enough. "...sentimentality, Nino. A pretty face is one thing, but the bloodline... resilience is key. You need an Omega who can withstand things. Not just decorate a penthouse."
Caius snagged a flute of champagne from a passing tray. He took a sip, the bubbles sharp on his tongue. Withstand things. He thought of the blood on the marble, now gone without a trace. He allowed himself a thin, private smile.
He didn’t approach them directly. That wasn't his role tonight. His role was to be beautiful, slightly distant, a testament to Nino's power to possess something so exquisite. He circulated, exchanging pleasantries with syndicate wives and finance husbands, his voice soft, his eyes wide and just a little vacant. The perfect trophy Omega. He could feel Silvio’s gaze on him, dismissive and cold.
The opportunity presented itself an hour in. Silvio, barking a laugh at some dull joke, turned to grab two tumblers of amber liquid from a side table, handing one to Nino. As he turned back to the group, his own drink momentarily perched on the marble edge of a statue’s plinth, unattended.
It was a three-second window. Caius was already moving, not towards Silvio, but on a perpendicular path that would intersect the space. A server crossed his path; Caius sidestepped with a murmured apology, his body a brief, graceful shield between the table and the room. His left hand, hovering near his own waist, dropped. The tiny, gelatin capsule, clear and filled with a viscous liquid, slipped from between his fingers into the depths of Silvio’s whiskey. It dissolved on contact, invisible. By the time Silvio reclaimed his glass and threw back a hearty swallow, the deed was done. A surgical precision, just like the knife work.
Caius was already three people away, listening to a woman talk about her daughter’s wedding, when he felt a different kind of gaze. He turned his head slowly.
Sera, Nino’s younger cousin, stood by a potted orange tree, her glass frozen halfway to her lips. Her eyes, a shade lighter than Nino’s, were wide. Not with shock, but with a dawning, horrified understanding. She’d seen it. The entire micro-movement. She stared at him, then at Silvio, then back at him.
Caius held her gaze. He didn’t smile, didn’t frown. He just looked at her, his expression a calm, blank page. She broke first, looking down into her drink, color high on her cheeks.
The drug was fast-acting. Within twenty minutes, Silvio’s booming confidence began to curdle into something else. He became overly tactile, grabbing arms, then paranoid, his eyes darting around the room. He spilled a drink down his front. He started arguing loudly with a DiTocco captain about a baseball game from ten years ago, his words slurring slightly though he’d only had two drinks.
Nino was watching him now, a deep furrow between his brows. "Uncle," he said, his voice low and carrying. "Maybe you should sit down."
"Don't you coddle me, boy," Silvio slurred, but he was sweating, his pupils enormous in the chandelier light. He swiped a hand over his forehead, then stumbled, grabbing a tablecloth for support. A cascading crash of china followed. The conversation in their quadrant of the room died.
Then Silvio looked directly at Caius, his face a mask of confused fury. "You," he spat, a shaking finger pointing. "You cold little phantom. What did you do?"
All eyes swung to Caius. He let a look of startled, perfect innocence settle on his features. He took a small, half-step closer to where Nino now stood, a subtle move of seeking protection.
"He's not well," Caius murmured, just loud enough for those nearest to hear. The compassionate Omega.
Nino moved, a swift, decisive intervention. He took Silvio’s arm in a firm grip, leaning in to speak directly into his ear. It looked supportive. It was anything but. Two of Nino’s personal men materialized and, with Nino, began steering the mumbling, sweating Silvio toward a private side exit. The party’s murmur rose again, a mix of concerned and amused gossip.
As Nino passed Caius, their eyes met for a fractured second. Nino’s held a storm of questions, of anger, and beneath it, a reluctant recognition. Caius gave him nothing back but a look of worried sympathy.
The momentum of the evening was broken. People began making their excuses. Caius stood alone for a moment by the grand piano, finishing his champagne. He felt a presence at his elbow.
Sera. Her voice was a taut wire. "I saw you."
Caius took a last sip, set the glass down. He turned his head just enough to look at her. She was pretty, with the family’s strong bones, but soft where Nino was hard. "Saw me what, Sera? Enjoy the canapés? They were exquisite."
"Don't," she hissed. "He’s family. He’s an asshole, but he's family. What was in that drink?"
"A suggestion," Caius said, his voice dropping to a conversational tone utterly at odds with his words. "A suggestion that his mind isn't what it was. That his body is betraying him. That he’s becoming a liability in public. Nino saw it. Everyone saw it. He won't be whispering in anyone's ear for a while." He finally faced her fully. "If the old man can whisper poison, he can drink it. It's only fair."
"He'll know it was you!"
"He'll suspect. There's a difference. And he has no proof. Only you." Caius let that hang in the perfumed air between them. "Are you going to tell him? Are you going to run to your Uncle Silvio and tell him the delicate Omega he despises dissolved a psychotropic cocktail in his Scotch? Who will he believe? You, or his own destabilizing mind?"
Sera’s breath hitched. She was smart enough to see the trap.
"Your loyalty is to Nino," Caius continued, softly. "Silvio is challenging Nino's authority. Weakening him. My action tonight strengthened your cousin's position in this room. Remember that when you're deciding what to do with what you think you saw."
He didn't wait for her answer. He glided away, toward the entrance where Nino was now returning, his jaw set, his eyes scanning the crowd until they found Caius.
In the back of the armored town car, rushing through the neon-streaked night, the silence was a physical thing. Nino didn't speak for five blocks. Then, staring straight ahead, he said, "Hallucinogen?"
"And a mild stimulant," Caius said, watching the city blur. "Non-lethal. Undetectable after six hours."
"God damn it, Caius." Nino’s voice was tired. "I said hands off."
"You said family was off-limits. I didn't lay a hand on him." Caius turned his head. "I just helped him reveal his own fragility. Publicly. Now, when he rails against me, or against your choice of spouse, people will remember a sweating, raving old man. Not a critic. A tragedy."
Nino looked at him then, a long, assessing look in the intermittent street light. The awe and the discomfort were back, battling it out. "Sera saw you."
"I know."
"Will she be a problem?"
Caius looked out the window again, a faint ghost of his reflection superimposed over the passing city. "No," he said. "She's loyal to you. She just needed to understand the math."
Nino laughed, a short, harsh sound with no humor in it. "You are a piece of work."
The car pulled into the underground garage of their building. As the engine cut, Nino didn't move. "The next time you have a creative solution to a family problem," he said, the words careful, deliberate, "you talk to me first. Not because you need my permission. But because I need to know." He finally turned to him, and his Alpha tone was present, but layered with something else—a demand for partnership, not submission. "Are we clear?"
Caius held his gaze in the shadowed car. The silence stretched. Then he gave a single, slight nod. "Crystal."
He got out of the car, the crisp night air of the garage a relief after the stifling perfume of the ballroom. He could feel Nino’s eyes on his back all the way to the elevator. The collar around his throat felt no heavier than before. The knife, strapped to his calf beneath his tailored trousers, was a more comforting weight.
He had stopped one poison. He had administered another. The ecosystem of the Moretti family was adjusting. And he, the beautiful, invasive species in its midst, was just getting started.