Chapter 5
The air between Roderic and Kenneth seemed to drop to freezing.
Roderic’s expression did not change. His face remained an unreadable mask of weathered stone, but the gold signet ring on his finger caught the chandelier light as his right hand subtly shifted.
"You've had a lot to say lately, Kenneth," Roderic murmured, his American accent flat, devoid of emotion. "At the council meetings. At the warehouse audits. You always seem to know what the Chicago families are thinking."
"Because I actually talk to them!" Kenneth yelled, throwing his arms out toward the watching crowd. "While you’re at home reading bedtime stories to an orphan you pulled out of an alley! You think blood makes an empire? That girl doesn't even carry Haversham DNA! Her father was a dead wheelman who owed three million to the loan sharks!"
Delphine coughed violently, wiping the gravy and bile from her mouth, her voice rising in a ragged shriek from the chair: "Kenneth, shut up! Don't say anything else!"
Roderic didn't break eye contact with Kenneth, but his lips curved into a cold, terrifying smile.
"Why shouldn't he speak, Delphine?" Roderic asked. "He seems to know an awful lot about my household."
"He was the one who gave me the phone!" Delphine blurted out, her survival instincts shattering the last remnants of loyalty. "He set up the account, Roderic! He told me that if I recorded Annelie crying, the Chicago bosses would release my brother’s debt notes!"
Kenneth spun around, his fist balling up, his face contorting into murderous rage. "You stupid, loose-lipped whore!"
Kenneth lunged toward the chair, reaching for Delphine’s throat.
Roderic moved with the blinding, explosive speed of a veteran predator.
He closed the distance in a single stride, his left hand intercepting Kenneth’s wrist, twisting the joint violently downward. Kenneth grunted in shock, trying to drive his right fist into Roderic’s ribs, but Roderic stepped inside the strike, driving his elbow hard into Kenneth’s solar plexus.
Kenneth’s breath exploded from his lungs in a ragged gasp.
Before the underboss could recover his footing, Roderic seized Kenneth’s silk lapels and drove him backward across the head table. The heavy mahogany surface groaned as Kenneth’s spine slammed into the centerpiece, shattering a three-foot crystal vase of white lilies and scattering fragrant water, petals, and silver cutlery across the room.
Roderic pinned Kenneth down with his left forearm pressed across the man’s windpipe, his right hand slipping inside his tailored suit jacket.
A matte-black automatic pistol slid from Roderic’s leather holster. The metallic slide racked back with a crisp, concussive snap that silenced every scream in the ballroom.
Roderic pressed the cold muzzle directly against Kenneth’s left eye.
"Tell me about Chicago, Kenneth," Roderic whispered, his voice smooth and steady over the sound of Kenneth’s wheezing lungs.
"Go to hell, Roderic," Kenneth choked out, blood bubbling at the corner of his lip where broken glass had nicked his cheek. "You think you're the only one with guns in this hotel?"
From the perimeter of the ballroom, four of Kenneth’s loyal guards suddenly unbuttoned their jackets, drawing suppressed submachine guns from beneath their tailored coats.
"Drop the weapon, Boss!" one of the rogue guards shouted, his hands shaking slightly as he aimed his barrel at Roderic’s back. "Step away from Mr. Ross right now, or we paint this floor with you!"
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Roderic didn't move the gun from Kenneth’s eye. He didn't even turn his head.
"Gage," Roderic said calmly toward the ceiling. "Clear the balcony."
