Chapter 3 - Ronan Callahan Waits Upstairs For His Dangerous MealThree floors above the bustling kitchen, Ronan Callahan sat alone in the sprawling mahogany private dining suite.
The room was bathed in the dim amber glow of antique wall sconces overlooking the dark Mississippi River.
He wore a custom-tailored charcoal suit, his broad shoulders squared against the high back of a leather armchair.
For three years, Ronan had refused to set foot in Beaumont House because every corner reminded him of betrayal.
Tonight, he was back because his intelligence network had intercepted chatter about a hit scheduled during his dinner.
He wanted to see which of his inner circle would try to slip poison into his final course.
A sharp knock echoed across the heavy oak door before it slowly swung open to reveal his head of security, Dominic.
“The kitchen staff had a medical emergency; Victor Voss was carted out by paramedics ten minutes ago,” Dominic reported.
Ronan didn't flinch, his slate-gray eyes fixed on the amber liquid swirling inside his crystal tumbler.
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“Did they poison the consommé like we anticipated?” Ronan asked coldly, his voice smooth and dangerous.
“Preliminary tests on the prep station indicate yes, boss; someone laced the beef broth with synthetic digitalis.”
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