Ty shook his head. “I didn"t kill him! He came back from dinner before I got out, talking about not feeling well and having shared your Scotch. Then he dropped dead in his room. Classic poisoning. I thought… are you sure you"re okay? You didn"t even have a sip?”

Zane cupped one of Ty"s cheeks in his palm. “Not even a sip.

Came close, but there was a very distracting attraction out on the dance floor.” Ty hugged him again in relief. Zane huffed quietly but pulled him close for several deep breaths before starting to relax. “As great as this is, we"ve got problems, baby.”

“Big problems,” Ty agreed without letting Zane go. “Armen"s dead because he drank your drink. So not only was he not the one trying to kill us, but someone"s still f**king trying to kill us!” He pulled back and looked Zane over yet again to assure himself that he was fine. He nodded grimly. Zane was right: they had work to do. “And the Bianchis are either guilty, or they"re in danger too.”

“Or dead on the goddamn dining room floor,” Zane said, his voice rough. “Bianchi drinks like a f**king fish.” Then he crossed his arms. “Wait. If Armen drank my drink, and it was the one that was poisoned, then Bianchi would already be down,” he said, looking at his watch. “We had those drinks almost from the time we sat down, and Armen didn"t take mine until a good ten minutes after you left. But he took off really quickly after you. Call it… five minutes onset, maybe fifteen minutes to death?”

Ty closed his eyes and waved his hands through the air. “Stop doing math!” he shouted as he grabbed his jacket and moved around Zane to head for the door. “Come on, we have to find them.”

“I left them in the dining room waiting on the entrees,” Zane said as they practically ran out of the stateroom.

ZANE didn"t even think to slow down as he and Ty ran through the promenade, skidding around Christmas trees and dodging through groups of people. He knew Ty was beside him, and they both knew what had to be done: find the Bianchis. As he swung around the last corner before the restaurant, Zane found himself hoping Lorenzo and Norina were both breathing and innocent. For criminals, they were pleasant company, rather unusual in Zane"s hardcore Miami drug scene experience.

Neither he nor Ty stopped moving when they entered the restaurant. After noting the absence of screaming, EMTs, or any other unusual excitement, Zane immediately scoped out the left side of the restaurant from where he stood inside the door, spotted Bianchi at the bar without any trouble, and cut past the hostess. Zane sensed Ty heading off in the other direction; he knew without asking that he was going after Norina.

Zane reached the bar and set a hand on Bianchi"s shoulder.

“Signor Bianchi?”

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Bianchi turned, a wide smile on his face. “Ah, Mr. Porter, you must have hurried to return to us so quickly from checking on your Del.

Scotch?” he asked, holding up a bottle.

“Not yet, thank you,” Zane said smoothly as he reached out to take the proffered flask. He watched Bianchi carefully, looking for a tell. Was the man trying to poison him? “I"ll wait for dessert, I think.”

“A sound idea,” Bianchi said, sounding approving. “Bring it to the table, and we"ll all finish the bottle off.”

Zane nodded slowly, and movement over Bianchi"s shoulder caught his attention. He glanced up to see two men in ill-fitted suits walking along the bar toward them. The men were totally focused on him and Bianchi, and Zane"s instincts went on alert. He"d have to take a risk.

“Listen to me. Armen is dead.”

Bianchi"s eyes instantly went comically wide—it was about as natural a reaction as Zane had ever seen. “Dead?” he asked, aghast.

“Yes. Poisoned,” Zane said, nodding to the bottle.

Bianchi yanked his hand back from it like it had burned him.

“But… but we ordered our drinks from the bar, all of us!” Then Bianchi flinched. “What about my Norina?” he said urgently, sliding off the bar stool and standing. “She had drinks as well!”

Zane took his arm to keep him from hurrying off. “To your right, do you know those men?”

“Men? What men? What do I care about men? My Norina!”

Bianchi babbled. It was pretty damn clear to Zane that the man wasn"t involved in any poisoning.

“Del is with her. Lorenzo,” Zane said, trying to hold the man"s attention as the two men drew closer. To Zane"s eye, they looked like some kind of law enforcement. “The men behind you.”

Bianchi glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. “No. No, I don"t know.”

Zane gripped Bianchi"s arm to hold him in place. “Stand up,” he ordered.

Bianchi glanced at him, looking wild around the eyes, but he obeyed just as the two men stopped in front of them. Their smiles weren"t particularly pleasant looking.

“Signor Bianchi?” the blue suit asked with an obvious Italian accent.

Bianchi cleared his throat nervously and glanced to Zane, who nodded slightly. “Si, sono il signor Bianchi.”

“Deve venire con noi,” the blue suit said flatly.

“Cosa? Perchè? Chi siete?” Bianchi asked. Zane wasn"t sure what they were saying, but he knew what con noi was: come with us.

“Ci sarà tempo dopo per le domande. Ora venga con noi,” the beige suit said as he slid his hand into his jacket.

Zane didn"t hesitate. He surged forward to grab the man"s arm and elbowed him in the throat, sending the man to the floor choking and gasping, too focused on trying to breathe to attempt to draw a weapon. The blue suit grabbed Bianchi, but a harsh kick to the back of the suit"s knee and a left cross shoved him off as people around them gasped and jerked away from their tables, starting a commotion. Zane pulled at Bianchi"s arm to get him moving away from the bar as the beige suit started to climb to his feet.

“That"s what you get for hanging me over a railing, you dick!” Ty called out in triumph over the chaos of the gawking diners.

Hearing that crow, Zane located his partner in the bustling crowd and steered Bianchi in that direction. Bianchi hurried to Norina—Ty was dragging her along with him—and swept her into a hug with a spate of worried Italian. Zane turned to look around them. The milling patrons blocked the way to the door, and he cast around for another exit they could use before the threat or the crew closed in.

“Kitchen,” he said to Ty as he pulled at Bianchi again. “Time to go before the suits get froggy again.”




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