Chapter 5
The silence in the bridal suite was absolute, broken only by the ragged, shallow breathing of the woman trapped beneath the floor. The bright, vivid colors of the room seemed to sharpen, contrasting violently with the dark, suffocating reality of the shallow cell.
Raffaele did not shout. He did not explode into a rage. The terrifying composure that made him a feared leader settled over his handsome features like a mask of iron. He slowly stood up, keeping his right hand firmly wrapped around Evelyn’s fragile fingers, anchoring her to the light.
"Anna," Raffaele said, his voice returning to its slow, measured, and dangerously low cadence.
The maid flinched, pulling her hands away from her tear-streaked face. "Yes, Boss."
"Take Ethan," Raffaele commanded softly, not taking his cold, sharp eyes off his sister. "Take my son to the south wing. Lock the doors. Do not let anyone inside unless it is me."
"Yes, sir," Anna whispered quickly. She scrambled to her feet, gently taking the three-year-old boy by the hand and guiding him swiftly out of the room, casting one last horrified glance at Bianca as they fled.
Raffaele looked back down into the chamber. "Can you stand, Evelyn?"
"I… my legs are weak," Evelyn rasped, her American accent strained from years of silence and despair. She looked up at him, her fair skin stained with dust, the torn lace of her wedding dress clinging to her shoulders. "It’s so bright, Raffaele."
"I know, amore mio. I know," Raffaele murmured.
He bent down, slipping his strong arms beneath her arms and behind her knees. With effortless strength, he lifted her entirely out of the floor. She weighed almost nothing. The torn wedding dress spilled over his tailored suit as he held her against his chest. He carried her to the plush, velvet chaise lounge near the window and laid her down gently.
Bianca watched this with wide, panicked eyes. She took another step toward the hallway, desperate to escape the inevitable reckoning.
"Bodyguards," Raffaele called out, his volume remaining low, yet the command sliced through the air.
Instantly, three massive white American adult men wearing professional dark suits stepped into the doorway, completely blocking Bianca’s exit. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their faces devoid of emotion, waiting for their boss’s order.
"Lock the doors," Raffaele said slowly, buttoning his suit jacket. "No one leaves this suite."
"Raffaele, listen to me," Bianca stammered, her voice pitching high in panic. She pressed her back against the wall, her diamond earrings catching the cinematic sunlight. "It wasn't just me! The family elders… they agreed! She was a liability! She didn't have the bloodline for our syndicate!"
"You put my bride in a box," Raffaele whispered, walking slowly toward his older sister. His polished leather shoes clicked rhythmically against the hardwood. "You buried her alive under the very room where we were supposed to spend our wedding night."
"I kept her alive!" Bianca cried defensively, tears of pure terror spilling down her rosy cheeks. "I brought her food! I brought her water! I could have killed her, Raffaele, but I didn't!"
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Raffaele stopped inches from her face. His eyes were black, bottomless pits of calculated rage.
"That," Raffaele said softly, "was your first mistake."
