Chapter 8
A young, fair-skinned nanny named Maria hurried forward from the edge of the ballroom. She knelt and gently took Eira’s hand, offering a comforting smile.
"Come along, sweetie. Let's go get some ice cream in the kitchen," Maria said, shooting a reverent, fearful glance up at her employer.
"Thank you, Maria," Galen nodded respectfully. "Take her to the secure wing. Do not leave her sight."
As Eira was led safely out of the ballroom, Galen stood up to his full, towering height. The tender father vanished in an instant, replaced by the veteran Mafia Don who now faced an impending war. The cinematic sunlight casting long shadows across the floor seemed to herald the dark days ahead.
He walked slowly toward a nearby mahogany table, picking up a crystal decanter of bourbon. He poured a small measure into a glass, but did not drink it. He simply held it, the amber liquid catching the light.
"Boss," a deep voice called out.
Vince, Galen’s second-in-command, stepped into the room. He was a hardened man in his early fifties, his tailored suit hiding a multitude of scars. He surveyed the broken music stands, the scattered ribbons, and the drops of blood on the floor with a grim expression.
"The Vales have been escorted off the property," Vince reported, his American accent strictly professional. "Nolan was still unconscious when we dumped him on the curb. Ainsley got into her car and sped off. She was screaming that her father is going to burn this estate to the ground."
"Arthur Vale is an arrogant, predictable old man," Galen stated, setting the glass of bourbon down with a definitive clink. "He relies on intimidation and sheer numbers. But he lacks discipline."
"With all due respect, Galen, he has three hundred armed soldiers on the South Side," Vince warned, stepping closer. "This wedding was supposed to secure the southern transit routes and avoid a bloodbath. If we break the alliance, we lose access to the docks."
"I will not secure a transit route with the blood of my daughter," Galen replied, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. He turned his intimidating, sharp eyes onto his capo. "Ainsley laid hands on Eira. Nolan attempted to strike me in my own house. The alliance was dead the moment they walked into this ballroom."
Vince nodded slowly, understanding the absolute finality of the decision. In their world, an attack on the Don's bloodline was an unforgivable offense.
"What are your orders, Boss?" Vince asked, his posture straightening as he prepared for the inevitable violence.
"Recall every man," Galen commanded, his mind working with terrifying, tactical precision. "Lock down the perimeter of the estate. Double the guard on the gates. Arm the men with heavy artillery. I want the northern warehouses secured and emptied by midnight."
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"Are we preparing for a siege?" Vince asked.
"No," Galen replied coldly, a dark, dangerous smirk touching the corners of his mouth. "We are preparing for an extermination."
