Chapter 8
It was phrased as a polite question, but the command hidden within it was unmistakable and absolute.
The guests practically scrambled toward the exits. There were no polite farewells, no lingering handshakes. Men in tailored suits and women in expensive evening gowns fled the bright, elegant room with frantic urgency, eager to escape the blast radius of Dorian Bancroft’s wrath.
"What are you doing?!" Maribel shrieked, watching her audience, her leverage, and her protection sprint for the heavy mahogany doors. "You can't just dismiss them! My family's capos are in this room!"
The men loyal to the Shaw family did not stay. They took one look at the cold, calculating fury in Dorian's eyes and the armed men loyal to the Bancroft syndicate stepping out from the shadows, and they ran just as fast as the civilians.
Within ninety seconds, the expansive grand salon was completely empty, save for Dorian, Maribel, Tessa, Caleb, Elinor, and four heavily armed Bancroft bodyguards.
The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut, sealing the room and locking Maribel inside with her greatest nightmare.
"Did you truly believe you could run an assassination operation against my bloodline and remain standing in my home?" Dorian asked, turning his terrifying focus entirely back to the woman in the burgundy gown.
Maribel backed away from the Christmas tree, her heels clicking unsteadily against the polished marble floor. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a defensive posture that crushed the luxurious fabric of her expensive dress. Her diamond earrings shook as her aristocratic bravado finally shattered, leaving only primal terror in its wake.
"Dorian, you cannot believe this is real," Maribel sobbed, her chest heaving as she tried to backpedal. "We are supposed to unite our syndicates! You cannot throw all of that away because of a misunderstanding! I will leave her alone! I will never touch her again!"
Dorian stood immovably in his tailored dark three-piece suit. He kept his broad shoulders squarely between his family and the woman who had targeted them. He felt absolutely nothing for her. The political affection he had feigned for the sake of the syndicate merger evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, calculating void that craved only survival and absolute retribution.
"Are you prepared to remove the ring from your finger, Maribel, or must I cut it from your hand?" Dorian asked, his deep voice carrying a measured, lethal calm.
Maribel flinched violently at the threat. She dropped her hands, her fair skin streaked with ruined makeup. She knew the stories of what Dorian Bancroft did to traitors within his syndicate.
May you like
"You can't do this!" Maribel choked out, the venom returning as self-preservation took over. "My father is Victor Shaw! He commands the entire southern seaboard! He will burn your empire to the ground if you humiliate me like this!"
"Is your father a man who fights battles for foolish, murderous daughters?" Dorian asked quietly.
