Chapter 3
The continuous, muted clatter of silver cutlery against porcelain plates came to a sudden, jarring halt. The bright, airy lighting of the dining hall seemed to sharpen, acting as a high-definition spotlight on the silent tension escalating at the head of the family table.
Maxwell did not move his powerful shoulders. He simply stared at the scene unfolding before him, his heavily tattooed hands resting completely still by his sides. The generous spacing of the ink was clearly visible under the warm, golden chandelier light.
He recognized Baxter immediately, noting the violent trembling in the elderly dog's frame. Then, his gaze shifted upward, locking onto Ada. He noticed the soaked, dripping hem of her black skirt and the completely ruined, damp fabric of her white apron.
Maxwell’s cold, perceptive eyes met Ada’s.
“Ada. Where did you find him?”
Maxwell’s voice was deep, quiet, and impossibly deliberate. The question dropped into the silent, luminous room like a heavy stone into still water. There was a terrifying, controlled pause after her name that demanded absolute submission.
Every single guest at the massive, crowded table stopped eating and speaking. The melodic hum of polite, American-accented conversations died completely. Men in expensive formal wear and women in satin gowns turned their heads in unison, their fair, rosy faces locking onto the head of the table. The silence was absolute, heavy with the terrifying realization that the apex predator of their world had just halted his own engagement dinner to interrogate a servant.
The camera angle held a tight close-up on Ada.
Ada swallowed hard, the muscles in her throat contracting visibly beneath the crisp white collar of her maid dress. She was entirely exposed beneath the bright, golden glow of the cascading chandeliers, trapped between the man who owned the city and the woman who was about to marry him.
Her inner brows lifted slightly, an expression of profound vulnerability and quiet agony. She was terrified of Camille, acutely aware of the vindictive cruelty the fiancée was capable of. But looking down at the shivering, loyal dog, a fierce wave of protectiveness overrode her fear.
Holding Maxwell’s intense, perceptive gaze, Ada made her choice.
“In the river, sir.”
May you like
Ada answered in a small, breathless voice that barely disturbed the air, yet echoed like a gunshot in the silent room. After the admission, her lips trembled. She looked undeniably frightened, fully aware that speaking against the narrative established by the future bride of the syndicate boss could cost her not just her place in the household, but her very life.
A collective, stifled gasp rippled through the gathered relatives and associates. To state that the beloved, elderly pet of the Mafia boss had been found in the fast-flowing river, especially after the fiancée had publicly claimed the dog had wandered off, was a horrifying revelation that disturbed even the hardened criminals sitting at the table.
