Page 44 of Last Shot

Giovanni looked like he was a cork about to pop.

‘At the moment, yes, it looks like the wine,’ Grey said carefully. How could he keep his cool right now? Max was a peripheral character in this saga and she was a jittery mess. ‘Luca’s right – people are putting the three stories together. Girl drinks wine. Girl gets sick. Girl dies. No one, of course, has added in any of the events that may have happened between those three things. And that is what we need to do now. Fill in the gaps. But first I need to know conclusively what killed Poppy Raven.’

‘And what if – and I’m sayingif, Dad.’ Nella raised an eyebrow at Giovanni. ‘What if itwasthe wine?’

‘Then we proceed from there,’ Grey said, ‘but I’m not jumping on the defensive until we know for sure. I might have to go into the city.’

‘We need you here, Greyson,’ Vittoria said. ‘The gala.’

‘I know.’ Grey’s face was pained. ‘I’ll make it back in time. But it’s a good thing I organised the extra security.’ He looked at Max.

She wasn’t sure if she was meant to respond or give everyone a cheery reassurance that she wasn’t going to let them all die.Remember, she reminded herself,they don’t know about the murder threat.

‘This is your last chance – I need to know now.’ Grey’s voice was gravelly and commanding. ‘And I need you to listen.’ Everyone’s eyes were on him. Even Luca looked up from his phone. Frankie settled herself near the closest barrel, no longer trying to dramatically escape. ‘Does anyone know anything they’re not telling me? About the wine? About Poppy Raven? About the gala?’

The silence screeched in Max’s ears like the tyres of a getaway car. The anticipation was so horrible thatshefelt an urge to say something.

Giovanni’s face was murderous, but Grey didn’t baulk. ‘I’m sorry, Gio,’ he said. ‘It’s my job to make sure.’

‘No one in this family would do such a thing. It pains me that this is even a question.’

Seems it’s only Giovanni who’s allowed to accuse his family of being traitors.

‘You need to be asking these questions about twenty minutes down Cove Road,’ Tomaso said. Urgh, it wasn’t just the tattoos and naked flesh thing, there was something seriously irritating about this guy. ‘We know who our true enemies are.’

‘There will be no mention of hostility between our family and the La Marcas,’ Vittoria said, her eyes no longer bullets but cold shards of blue-black ice. ‘They are invited as guests tomorrow night, and they will be treated as such. We do not want to give anyone ammunition to accuse us of any wrongdoing.’

‘Forrest’s not coming, is he?’ Nella asked quietly.

‘Wishhe’dbeen the one to drown, not his brother,’ Frankie said, her eyebrows knotting together. Was Max witnessing a first moon-landing moment in history? The only thing the two Barbarani sisters had ever agreed on – a hatred of Forrest Valentine?

‘I saw Callum at a few ETR protests before he ...’ Frankie trailed off. Wisely, Max thought, judging by the look on Giovanni’s face at the mere thought of his daughter consorting with a La Marca contact.

‘The restraining order’s lapsed,’ Grey said. Max didn’t miss the quick glance he shot at Luca, who had gone eerily still at Nella’s question. Max looked away when she saw Grey notice her gaze, focusing on the first random thing she could find – a black backpack resting near the staircase.

‘There shouldn’t be any problems,’ Vittoria said.

Max surveyed the Barbaranis and Grey. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on what.

She tried to remember the scene of them all arriving. Luca was already in the cellar when they got there. Giovanni and Vittoria had arrived within thirty seconds of each other.

No one had been carrying a backpack. Had they?

Someone was talking, but her head was filling up with acidic, salt water, drowning everything out with sloshing, white noise.

‘Whose backpack is that?’

Everyone looked at her like she’d just stabbed them all simultaneously. She rewired her thoughts to work out who she’d interrupted.

Shit. Giovanni.

‘Maxella, what are you ...’ Grey gave her the sort of look she herself reserved for paedophiles and rapists.

‘Whose backpack is that?’ she asked again. Her voice shook.

Focus. Focus.

They all just stared at her.

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