Chapter 6
The revelation hung heavily in the bright, luminous air of the cemetery. The two bodyguards—the Black American and the white American—stiffened. Their professional demeanor cracked, their hands hovering nervously near their holstered weapons. They realized instantly that the housemaid’s confession had just stripped them of their political immunity. In the eyes of the Valegrove syndicate, they were no longer diplomatic escorts; they were dead men.
Tallulah stumbled forward, her ivory coat flapping in the breeze, desperate to regain control of the narrative before Anselm unleashed his enforcers.
"Anselm, she is a lying servant!" Tallulah shrieked, her voice echoing shrilly across the manicured garden, shattering the heavy silence. "You cannot possibly believe this... this peasant over your future wife! She is trying to turn you against my father's alliance to secure her own position in your bed!"
Anselm did not blink. His dark, intense eyes remained locked on the woman trembling near the ruined memorial easel. He gently withdrew his arm from Amelie’s proximity, though he kept his broad, masculine frame positioned protectively in front of the housemaid.
"Do you expect me to believe a housemaid would risk her life in a crowd of armed men simply to tell a lie, Tallulah?" Anselm asked, his voice returning to its deep, measured cadence.
He took a slow, deliberate step toward her. The tailored fabric of his dark suit pulled tight across his powerful shoulders. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as his fingers curled into fists at his sides.
"I was protecting the family!" Tallulah screamed, panic finally breaking her elegant facade. She pointed a shaking finger at him. "Your mother’s legacy is a liability! The feds are digging into her old accounts! I had to move the evidence to protect my father’s campaign! I did it for us!"
The confession echoed off the surrounding marble headstones, sealing her fate. She hadn't denied the desecration; she had justified it as a political necessity, treating the remains of his mother as nothing more than inconvenient evidence.
Anselm stopped just a few feet away from her. He looked down at the woman who was supposed to be his political salvation, his sharp jawline set in stone.
"Did you honestly believe you could desecrate the grave of the woman who gave me life, and I would thank you for the privilege?" Anselm asked, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper that silenced the entire crowd.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He turned his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the two bodyguards hovering near the crushed lilies.
"Are you men going to draw your weapons in defense of a grave robber, or are you going to surrender your arms while you still have hands to hold them?" Anselm asked softly.
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The two bodyguards exchanged a frantic, terrified glance. They were mercenaries, paid to protect the senator’s daughter, but they were surrounded by forty heavily armed members of the most ruthless mafia family in the state. They knew better than to draw on the boss.
Slowly, deliberately, both men unclasped their holsters. They dropped their heavy weapons onto the damp grass, raising their hands in absolute surrender, abandoning Tallulah to the wrath of the man she had betrayed.
