Chapter 4
The heavy brass deadbolts slid into their housings with three distinct, metallic clacks that resonated through the cavernous ballroom like gunshots.
The eighty remaining guests began to whisper frantically. Men in bespoke tuxedos pulled at their collars, while their wives checked their clutch purses, terrified that their own phones were linked to the illicit network.
Roderic walked back to the head table.
He didn't touch Gordon, who was still weeping on the floor. He stopped in front of Delphine. He reached out, grabbed the arm of her upholstered chair, and dragged it three feet forward until she was positioned directly in front of the gravy-soaked sponge.
"Sit up, Delphine," Roderic commanded.
Delphine pulled herself up, her emerald gown wrinkled, her chest heaving. "Roderic, we’re supposed to get married in three days! The invitations have gone out to half the country! We can handle this quietly! I’ll sign over my trust fund! I’ll go to a clinic in Switzerland!"
"You starved my daughter for forty-eight hours," Roderic said, leaning down until his lips were inches from her ear. "You made her beg for scraps while you broadcast her tears to four hundred men who pay for cruelty."
"I was desperate!" she screamed.
Roderic picked up the silver fork from the table. He drove the tines into the yellow sponge, lifting the dripping, gravy-soaked mess into the air.
"Eat it," Roderic said.
Delphine’s eyes widened in horror. She pressed her face back against the chair. "What? No! Roderic, that’s disgusting! It’s soap and dishwater! It’ll make me sick!"
"Annelie sat here for twenty minutes waiting for her meal," Roderic replied, his voice terrifyingly calm. "She lifted that lid expecting food. You wanted her to eat it. So now you’re going to show her how it’s done."
"I won't!" Delphine sobbed, clamping her teeth shut.
Roderic didn't raise his voice. He simply signaled with his left hand.
Two enforcers stepped forward, their heavy hands clamping down on Delphine’s shoulders, pinning her arms against the chair. One of them pinched her nose shut, forcing her mouth to gasp open for air.
Roderic thrust the gravy-soaked sponge against her lips.
Delphine gagged violently, coughing and retching as the salty, soapy liquid ran down her chin, ruining her diamond necklace and the silk bodice of her dress.
"Roderic! Stop!" a booming voice echoed from the far side of the table.
Roderic lowered the fork, his gray eyes tracking the voice.
Kenneth Ross, Roderic’s forty-five-year-old underboss and the overseer of the Brooklyn waterfront, stood up from his seat. Kenneth was built like a heavyweight boxer, his tailored tuxedo straining across massive shoulders, his rosy skin flushed with dark, unreadable fury.
"That’s enough, Roderic," Kenneth said, stepping around the table with an unhurried, heavy stride. "You’ve made your point. Delphine is an idiot who got caught in an internet hustle. But you’re humiliating this family in front of our key associates."
Roderic slowly set the fork back down on the porcelain plate.
"An internet hustle, Kenneth?" Roderic asked, turning his full height toward his lieutenant. "Is that what you call it?"
"She’s a shallow woman with expensive tastes," Kenneth replied, stopping five paces away, his hands resting casually inside his trouser pockets. "She wanted extra cash. She did something stupid. Put her in a car, send her to her parents in Connecticut, and let’s finish the banquet. We have contracts to sign with the port commissioners tonight."
Roderic tilted his head, studying his underboss’s steady pulse.
"You seem very eager to sweep this away, Kenneth," Roderic said softly.
"I’m eager to protect our business," Kenneth shot back, his voice hardening. "You’ve spent the last six months playing nursery school dad instead of running the family. The Chicago crews are moving into Queens. New Jersey is withholding our fuel kickbacks. And here you are, having a nervous breakdown over a child’s missed lunch."
The silence in the ballroom became absolute.
May you like
Roderic took one slow step toward Kenneth. "A missed lunch?"
"You heard me," Kenneth sneered, stepping closer, refusing to back down. "A king who changes diapers is no king at all, Roderic. And everyone in this room knows it."
