Chapter 9
The silence in the grand dining hall was absolute, a heavy, oppressive weight that smothered the bright, airy elegance of the room. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to bathe the ivory wall panels in a soft, elegant warmth, but the atmosphere had turned as cold as a morgue.
Maribel was completely isolated, standing alone opposite the unified front of the Cross patriarch and the brave housemaid who had brought the shattered truth into the light.
"You can't do this, Silas," Maribel hissed, panic mutating into cornered, vicious entitlement. "My family is too powerful. If you humiliate me, my father will declare war. He will shut down your supply lines and burn this city to the ground."
"Will he declare war?" Silas asked, tilting his head with dangerous curiosity. The loose strands of wavy hair falling over his forehead contrasted violently with the absolute, apocalyptic death promised in his cold eyes. "Or will he thank me for returning his defective, murderous daughter before she caused a war he could not possibly win?"
Maribel’s mouth dropped open. The color drained entirely from her lips. She realized she had absolutely no power left in the room. The alliance was dead, severed by her own psychopathic ambition.
"Get your hands off me!" Maribel screamed as two massive men in tailored dark suits stepped forward from the shadows and grabbed her by the arms. She thrashed wildly, her sculpted silk gown twisting awkwardly around her legs. "You are choosing a servant and a disabled brat over a queen! You are a fool, Silas!"
"Are empires built by men who sleep beside their own assassins?" Silas inquired, entirely unaffected by her venom.
He didn't wait for a response. He slowly turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the silent, paralyzed guests.
"Is this engagement dinner concluded?" Silas asked the room at large.
May you like
The question was rhetorical, a lethal command disguised as an inquiry. The guests immediately understood. Chairs scraped softly against the polished floors as the most powerful men and women in the American mafia stood up in unison. They didn't speak. They didn't offer their goodbyes or polite pleasantries. They simply turned and began a swift, silent exodus from the luminous dining hall, eager to escape the blast radius of the Boss's impending wrath.
Within ninety seconds, the massive, opulent room was entirely empty of guests. The only people remaining in the dining hall were Silas, Keira, Annie, Maribel, and a dozen heavily armed, white American security guards standing quietly in the shadows near the carved marble fireplace.
