Chapter 5
The standoff at the head of the table stretched into an eternity. Alexander finally broke his deadly gaze away from Bianca. He picked up the heavy silver ring with the square black stone, slipping it seamlessly into the inner pocket of his dark three-piece suit. His tattooed fingers adjusted his cuffs with a terrifying, methodical calm.
"Everyone," Alexander said. His deep voice did not rise in volume, yet it commanded the massive, luminous dining room perfectly. "The dinner is concluded. You will all leave my home immediately."
A flurry of frantic movement erupted. The guests, eager to escape the impending bloodshed, practically scrambled out of their chairs. Expensive silk dresses rustled, and polished leather shoes clattered against the hardwood floors. There were no polite goodbyes, no offers of thanks for the meal. The white American elite understood the unwritten laws of the syndicate perfectly: when the boss tells you to leave, you run.
Within ninety seconds, the dining room was entirely empty, save for Alexander, Bianca, Nora, and little Oliver.
"Alexander, please," Bianca wept, her affectionate public smile completely destroyed. Tears ruined her immaculate makeup, streaking down her fair cheeks. She reached out, trying to grab the sleeve of his tailored jacket. "It’s not what you think! I can explain everything! The boy is confused!"
Alexander slapped her hand away with a violent, effortless flick of his wrist. He did not look at her. Instead, he turned his broad shoulders toward the housemaid.
Nora was still standing her ground, though she looked incredibly fragile in her sophisticated black maid dress. She held Oliver tightly against her side.
"Nora," Alexander said, his voice softening just a fraction, the coldness in his perceptive eyes thawing momentarily as he looked at the woman who had protected his son. "Take Oliver up to his bedroom. Lock the door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me."
"Yes, sir," Nora replied, her voice steady despite her trembling hands. She looked down at the boy. "Come along, Oliver. Let's go read a story."
"Is Dad going to be okay?" Oliver asked, looking up at Nora with wide, concerned eyes.
"Your father is going to be just fine," Nora smiled gently, a softly curved, reassuring expression that brought a momentary warmth to the cold reality of the room.
She took Oliver's hand and led him swiftly out of the dining room. Alexander watched them go, his eyes lingering on the elegant, feminine proportions of the maid who possessed more courage than the thirty hardened criminals who had just fled his table.
Once the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind Nora and Oliver, the temperature in the room plummeted. Alexander slowly turned back to face his fiancée.
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"Now," Alexander whispered, stepping toward Bianca, his angular face set in a mask of pure, unadulterated menace. "You are going to tell me exactly how long my dead brother has been sleeping in your bed."
Bianca collapsed into her chair, burying her face in her hands, her sculpted evening gown suddenly looking like a funeral shroud. The golden chandeliers cast their gentle light over her shaking form, offering no comfort as the interrogation began.
