Chapter 3
The continuous, muted clatter of silver cutlery against fine porcelain provided a rhythmic backdrop to the elegant dinner party. The tall candles flickered gently, casting warm reflections across the gilded moldings. The luxurious, intimate atmosphere of the dining hall felt entirely secure to the wealthy guests, but the air immediately surrounding the head of the table was about to ignite.
Keira approached the space directly to the right of Silas’s chair, moving with careful, measured steps. In her hands, she carried a silver tray laden with delicate, gold-rimmed dessert plates. She struggled violently to contain her own distress, forcing her breathing to remain even so as not to draw the attention of the apex predators filling the room.
"Excuse me, sir," Keira murmured softly, her American accent trembling slightly as she stepped up to the table.
With meticulous care, she reached out and set the exquisite dessert plate directly before Silas. As she pulled her hand back, the server with the champagne tray approached from the opposite side, placing a freshly poured, bubbling crystal flute near Silas's right hand.
"A toast, darling," Maribel announced smoothly from across the table, lifting her own glass. Her emerald gown shimmered in the golden light. "To our future, and to the strength of this family."
Silas did not smile, but he slowly reached out his heavily tattooed hand toward the crystal stem of the champagne glass.
In that exact microsecond, Annie lunged.
The eight-year-old girl threw her small body forward, reaching across the polished walnut table. With both of her tiny hands, she caught Silas’s thick, powerful wrist in a desperate, white-knuckled grip.
Silas stopped immediately.
His hand hovered just an inch above the poisoned champagne. He did not pull away, nor did he display any outward sign of explosive anger. The muscles in his forearm flexed beneath the dark fabric of his tailored suit, but he remained completely, terrifyingly still.
Annie’s small fingers trembled violently against his skin. She did not look at the glass, nor did she look at Maribel. She searched Silas’s angular face with a frightened, agonizing urgency, her eyes pleading with him in a silent language only the two of them truly understood.
May you like
"Annie, what on earth are you doing?" Maribel scolded, her voice sharp and laced with sudden, barely concealed panic. "Let go of your father this instant. You are making a scene."
Silas did not acknowledge his fiancée. His cold, observant eyes dropped to the small, trembling hands gripping his wrist, and then slowly shifted upward, locking onto the beautiful housemaid standing just behind his daughter's chair. The bright, clear lighting of the room offered no shadows to hide within. The truth of the panic was written plainly on their faces, and the Mafia boss was waiting for the translation.
