Chapter 22: The Last Dose

Ada's POV

We were at the house in thirty-five minutes, and Tullio had set the table for six.

He had cooked all afternoon.

The long dining room smelled of garlic and wine, and white candles stood in the old silver holders.

He was wearing an apron over his camel coat.

"Brother," he said, and spread his arms. "Dr. Winslow. Sit. I've made Papa's braciole."

Rocco stopped in the doorway.

Behind us, four of his guards fanned out into the hall.

"You came back," Rocco said.

"I came to say goodbye properly. Tomorrow the Commission will do whatever it does, and tonight I would like to feed my family."

Gia was already at the table with her hands folded and her jaw set.

Two of Tullio's old men stood against the wall, their guns holstered, looking at nobody.

"Nothing here is poisoned," Tullio said gently. "I'll eat from every dish. Doctor, you may taste each plate."

I took a fork and tasted every dish on that table.

I tasted the sauce, the meat, the bread and the greens, and I watched Tullio eat the same, a mouthful from each.

I took the wine from the sideboard, opened a bottle I chose myself and poured it for the table.

"There," Tullio said. "Clean."

Rocco sat at the head of the table.

I sat at his right and watched his hands.

Halfway through the meal Rocco took his evening pill from his jacket pocket.

I watched him swallow it with the water I had poured.

It looked like the white pill I had ordered for his heart, and I had no reason to doubt it.

Tullio told a story about their father and a stolen goat.

Gia almost smiled and then didn't.

Twenty minutes later Rocco laughed once, a short astonished laugh, and then his face changed.

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

"Ada," he said.

"What is it?"

"My arm."

His left hand opened, and the fork fell and rang against the plate.

He tried to say something else.

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