Chapter 9
The quiet, golden warmth of the private study felt like a genuine sanctuary. Ada stared at the powerful Mafia boss, completely overwhelmed by the sudden, life-altering offer. She had expected to be fired, or perhaps quietly paid off for her discretion. She hadn't expected the most terrifying man in the city to entrust her with the care of his home and elevate her standing within his empire.
"Are you certain, Mr. Rourke?" Ada asked, her voice a fragile whisper. "I am just a housemaid."
"Does a uniform define the strength of a person's character, or do their actions in the dark define them?" Maxwell asked smoothly, stepping slightly closer.
Ada smiled, a beautiful, radiant expression that lit up her softly oval face. "I would be honored to manage the household, sir."
"Will you rest now, Ada?" Maxwell asked, gesturing toward a comfortable leather armchair near the fire.
"I will, thank you," she nodded gratefully.
Maxwell turned and walked quietly out of the study, the heavy oak doors closing solidly behind him. The protective, paternal warmth he had shown in the room vanished entirely the moment he stepped back into the bright, illuminated corridors of his empire. The terrifying, cold-blooded executioner re-emerged, his jaw locked in stone.
He descended the grand marble staircase, his polished leather shoes striking the steps with a heavy, rhythmic finality. He bypassed the empty dining hall, heading directly for the lower levels of the mansion.
The air in the basement was cool and sterile, lit by harsh industrial bulbs that offered no soft elegant warmth. Two of his most ruthless, broad-shouldered enforcers stood at attention outside a heavy steel door.
"Is she secured inside?" Maxwell asked, his deep voice vibrating in the cold corridor.
"Yes, Boss. She hasn't stopped demanding to speak to you," the lead guard replied, unlocking the heavy deadbolt.
Maxwell pushed the door open.
Camille was sitting on a cold metal folding chair in the center of the barren room. Her sculpted satin evening gown was stained, and her pristine makeup was completely ruined by tracks of panicked tears. When she saw Maxwell step into the room, she scrambled backward, the chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor.
"Maxwell, please!" Camille shrieked, her American accent pitching into a hysterical wail. "You have to listen to me! I can explain everything!"
"Does a woman who tortures an innocent animal possess any words worth hearing?" Maxwell inquired, crossing his arms over his chest.
"My father ordered it!" Camille sobbed, throwing her own family under the bus in a desperate bid for survival. "He wanted to absorb your territories! He knew you would never agree to a merger if he asked for control of the supply lines! He told me to create chaos in your home to keep you distracted!"
"Did your father also order you to drown a defenseless dog, or was that simply a manifestation of your own pathetic cruelty?" Maxwell asked, his perceptive eyes narrowing into dark, lethal slits.
Camille opened her mouth, her chest heaving, but she could not formulate a lie to defend her actions. She buried her face in her hands, weeping uncontrollably.
"Are you prepared to sign a full confession implicating your father in the conspiracy to defraud this syndicate?" Maxwell asked, his tone dropping into a register of pure, concentrated ice.
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"If I do, will you let me live?" Camille begged, looking up with wide, terrified eyes.
"Will your survival not depend entirely on how useful your confession proves to be when I dismantle your father's empire tomorrow morning?" Maxwell replied, turning his back on her before she could answer.
