Chapter 3
The tension in the luminous dining room was absolute. The gentle golden highlights cast by the crystal chandeliers felt heavy, pressing down on the silent guests. Alexander stood tall, his hand still firmly covering the heavy silver ring with the square black stone. The artistic tattoos on his knuckles stood out starkly against the crisp white tablecloth. He did not move, letting the silence stretch until it became agonizing.
Bianca cleared her throat, adjusting the diamond earrings that brushed against her fair neck. She looked directly at Alexander, attempting to project an aura of calm amusement. She let out a small, dismissive laugh that echoed awkwardly in the quiet space.
"Darling, don't be so dramatic," Bianca said, her tone dripping with manufactured affection. She waved a dismissive hand. "The gardener gave him that. I saw the man handing the boy some old trinket earlier this afternoon while I was walking the grounds."
Her smile remained plastered on her face, but it was desperate. Her eyes darted around the table, silently begging the surrounding guests to nod, waiting for an agreement that never came.
"The gardener," Alexander repeated, his deep voice stripped of all warmth.
"Yes, of course," Bianca insisted quickly. "You know how the help is. They find some junk in the dirt and think it's a treasure. We should just throw it away."
Alexander gave her a slow, terrifying sideways glance. He didn't blink. He simply looked at the woman he was supposed to marry, analyzing the subtle tremors in her perfectly manicured hands and the nervous flush beneath her rosy skin. Slowly, methodically, he looked down at his own hand covering the ring.
Bianca’s smile tightened. The muscles in her jaw flexed, and her controlling temperament flared against her will. "Alexander, please. You are making a scene over a piece of trash."
"It is not trash," a soft, trembling voice interrupted.
The guests gasped collectively. Alexander’s eyes snapped away from Bianca.
Nora stood right behind Oliver. Her slender fingers were gripping the boy's shoulders protectively. She was holding Alexander’s cold, perceptive gaze, refusing to back down despite her position as a mere housemaid. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, but her expressive eyes were filled with a fierce, undeniable resolve.
"He wasn't dressed like a gardener," Nora whispered, her American accent carrying clearly through the silent room.
Her lower lip trembled, betraying her terror, but she did not break eye contact with the mafia boss.
Bianca turned sharply toward her, her face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. "Excuse me?" Bianca hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "How dare you speak? You are a maid! Keep your mouth shut!"
Nora’s elegant shoulders drew inward defensively under the verbal assault. The upscale black maid dress felt suddenly like a target. She took a shallow breath, fully expecting to be struck or dragged from the room by the security guards.
"I am speaking to Mr. Whitlock," Nora said softly but firmly, maintaining her ground. "The man who gave Oliver the ring was wearing a tailored suit. He had a scar above his left eye."
Alexander’s blood ran completely cold. The description was flawless. It was his brother.
May you like
Bianca practically lunged across the table. "You lying little rat! I will have you fired! I will have you thrown out onto the street!"
"You will not touch her," Alexander commanded, his voice a low, lethal rumble that instantly froze Bianca in her tracks. He looked at Nora, a newfound respect burning in his cold eyes. Nora had risked everything to tell him the truth, staying resolutely beside his son while the rest of the room cowered.
