Chapter 9
"He will kill you!" Maribel pleaded, reaching out to grasp the edge of a gilded table. "I am going to be your wife, Dorian! We signed the contracts! You cannot back out now without causing a massive war!"
"Do you expect me to harbor an assassin under my roof to appease a shipping magnate?" Dorian asked.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He reached into his tailored jacket and retrieved a sleek, encrypted smartphone. He dialed a single digit and pressed the phone to his ear.
"Vincent," Dorian said into the receiver, his eyes locked on his former fiancée. "Will you come to the salon and escort Miss Shaw to the holding cells beneath the east wing immediately?"
He lowered the phone and looked at the broken socialite one last time.
"Have you finally realized the price of your ambition, Maribel?" Dorian asked softly, as the heavy mahogany doors of the salon burst open.
Vincent and another massive security guard in dark suits entered the room. They marched forward without a word, hauling Maribel roughly to her feet. She shrieked, thrashing wildly against their iron grip, but they were unyielding.
"You will regret this, Dorian!" she screamed as they dragged her backward toward the doors. "You will all burn for this!"
"Will you convey my deepest regards to your father when I send him the pieces of his syndicate?" Dorian asked quietly, watching the doors slam shut.
The profound, ringing silence of the grand salon settled heavily over the remaining figures. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned champagne glasses and the towering Christmas tree. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt entirely different—it was a sanctuary of survival.
Dorian stood silently for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The betrayal was absolute, the upcoming syndicate war with Maribel’s father inevitable, but the immediate, toxic sickness within his home had been surgically removed. Now, he had to secure his family and the woman who had suffered to protect them.
He turned his body, pivoting seamlessly on the polished marble floors, and focused his entire attention back on the velvet sofa.
Tessa was kneeling on the floor now, holding Elinor’s hand tightly. She had quickly popped open the clear glass ornament and poured the white pills into her palm, offering them to the older woman with a glass of water.
Dorian crouched down, his tailored suit shifting, and watched as his mother finally swallowed the life-saving medication. The color began to slowly return to Elinor's pale cheeks.
"Thank you, Tessa," Dorian said, his deep voice softening significantly, losing its lethal, interrogative edge.
May you like
Tessa looked up at the towering mafia boss, her expressive eyes wide. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Bancroft. I wanted to tell you, but her men were watching me all day. She said she would kill me."
"You have nothing to apologize for," Dorian murmured, his tattooed hand reaching out to gently brush a disheveled strand of hair from her face. "You protected my mother. You are a very brave woman."
