Page 37 of Dance of Deception

Vito doesn’t even blink. “It’s not,” he grunts. “That shit isreal. Either way, Mushkin’s gone missing, his people are losing their shit trying to keep it quiet, and I think we all know what that means for those warehouses of his in Queens.”

I nod slowly. Then, Pop shakes his head.

“Not a conversation for right now. I just wanted to put that in your heads.”

“Hey, you’re the boss, Pop.”

He smiles and claps me on the shoulder. “Not forever, kiddo.” He clears his throat as he turns and rubs his hands together, looking pleased. “All right, all right, everyone, take your seats. Dinner is ready. But first, a toast.”

Nico uncorks one of the bottles with practiced ease, pouring deep red wine into each waiting glass as we all take our placesaround the table. Vito stands at the head of the table, lifts his glass, and we all follow suit.

“Alla famiglia,” he says with a warm smile.

To family.

“To the past that shaped us, the present that binds us, and the future that awaits us.”

He clears his throat, frowning slightly before raising his glass again.

“May our hands remain steady, our hearts remain strong, and may we always find our way home.”

We clink glasses, laughter and conversation swelling again.

Except suddenly, something’s wrong.

Pop is still standing, his glass aloft. But he’s not taking a sip, and his face is twisted in a grimace.

“Dad?” Bianca blurts.

I watch it happen in slow motion. Vito staggers back, his glass slipping from his grip and shattering against the floor, red wine pooling like spilled blood on the floorboards.

Then he drops.

Fuck.

No.

Bianca screams.

Nico lunges forward, catching Pop just before he hits the ground.

Tempest gasps, her chair scraping back as she jumps to her feet.

Kratos is already shoving the table aside, Dante moving swiftly to help lower Vito onto the floor.

I drop beside him, hands gripping his shoulders.

“Pop,” I choke out. “POP!”

This isn’t how this happens. Vito Barone isn’t supposed tocollapse at family dinner.

“Someone call a fucking ambulance!” Nico roars.

This isn’t happening.

Pop’s face is ashen, his breathing shallow.

His eyes meet mine. For the first time in my life, Vito Barone looks afraid.

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