"Don't drink that."
My hand closed around Dante's wrist before I'd fully decided to move. The entire table went silent, forks suspended midair, conversation dying mid-sentence. Dante looked down at my hand, then at the wineglass inches from his lips, his expression giving nothing away.
Every eye at that table had turned toward me. I didn't yet know if I'd just made myself look like a fool in front of the most dangerous people in his organization, or if I'd just saved his life.
Two hours earlier, I hadn't expected to be sitting at this table at all.
Dante had invited me to a private dinner with his senior circle, and I'd understood, the moment I stepped into the dining room, that this was nothing like the formal gathering weeks earlier. This was smaller, tighter, the kind of room where
