Chapter 4
The bright, natural sunlight pouring through the glass roof felt entirely disconnected from the suffocating, dark tension rapidly filling the room. Silas gently handed Amara over to his mother. Gloria pulled the toddler into a fierce, protective embrace, shielding the little girl's eyes from the violence she knew was about to unfold.
Silas slowly rose to his full, imposing height.
The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as he let his arms hang loosely by his sides. He did not look at Victoria yet. His cold, sharp eyes were fixed on the floor, his mind calculating the exact weight of the betrayal that had just occurred under his own roof. The air in the conservatory grew dangerously still. The estate staff standing near the perimeter of the room collectively held their breath, terrified to make a sound.
Seeing the dangerous shift in the Mafia boss’s demeanor, and foolishly believing he could assert dominance in the situation, Sterling Thorne stepped forward.
The forty-two-year-old man inserted himself directly between Silas and Victoria. His fair, ruddy skin was flushed with arrogance, the pinkish undertones standing out under the bright lights. Sterling puffed out his chest in his expensive suit, attempting to project the same deeply masculine authority that Silas effortlessly possessed.
Sterling reached out and aggressively shoved Silas in the center of his chest.
"Back off, Silas," Sterling warned, his American accent sharp and confrontational. "Victoria didn't do anything wrong. You are coddling the kid."
Silas absorbed the heavy shove without moving a single inch. His feet remained firmly planted on the decorative tiles. He slowly lowered his head, his cold, intimidating eyes looking down at the exact spot on his chest where Sterling had just placed his hand.
The silence stretched for three agonizing seconds.
"She’s only good at pretending," Sterling continued, his tone utterly dismissive and dripping with contempt. He gestured toward the weeping three-year-old in Gloria’s arms. "She was faking it. Victoria was just trying to teach her a lesson about crying wolf in front of the adults."
Silas slowly raised his hand. He looked at his own tattooed fingers, examining the negative space in the ink, flexing his knuckles as if testing the mechanics of a lethal weapon.
"Pretending," Silas whispered.
He spoke incredibly slowly, with highly controlled pauses between his words. He kept his volume terrifyingly low, a measured, cold, and dangerous delivery that made the hairs on the back of Sterling’s neck stand up.
"You believe," Silas continued, his gaze drifting up from his hand to lock directly onto Sterling's pale blue eyes, "that my daughter... fakes her inability to breathe... for attention."
May you like
"I know she does," Sterling doubled down, blinded by his own ego and a complete lack of self-preservation. "And if you were half the boss you pretend to be, you wouldn't let a toddler run this syndicate. Now step back and apologize to my sister."
Silas did not blink. The charming, romantic look created by the loose strands of hair on his forehead was a horrifying mask covering the absolute executioner standing in the room. He had calculated the cost. He had weighed the alliance. And he had found the Thorne family entirely lacking.
