The gala was chaos.
Security evacuated five hundred people. The FBI arrived, and the Hazardous Materials (Hazmat) teams were analyzing the champagne that was supposed to kill us.
I was sitting in a side room with Tony, both of us wrapped in shock blankets like trauma victims.
Which, I suppose, we are.
"Ms. Blaire." Agent Chen approaches. "We need your statement."
I tell him everything. The waiter, the champagne, and Luca's warning. The text message with our photo.
"We found the glasses," Chen says. "Preliminary analysis shows military-grade nerve agent. Lethal within seconds of ingestion."
My stomach turns. "We were going to drink it."
"If Luca hadn't stopped you, you'd both be dead right now."
Tony's hand finds mine and squeezes it. We were seconds from death.
Again.
"The waiter?" I ask.
