Chapter 2
The heavy mahogany doors leading to the kitchen swung shut behind Nadine as she briefly retreated from the dining room. The oppressive heat of the industrial stoves was a stark contrast to the chilled, calculated atmosphere of the banquet hall. She leaned against the cool stainless-steel counter, her breath coming in shallow, frantic gasps. She pulled her hand from her apron pocket.
Resting in her palm was a distinctive, braided gold wedding band. It was completely caked in dark, wet earth.
"Are you alright, Nadine?" asked Sarah, one of the junior maids, pausing with a tray of fresh champagne flutes. "You look incredibly pale. Did one of the capos say something to you?"
"I am fine, Sarah," Nadine lied, her voice shaking slightly as she quickly closed her fist around the ring, hiding it from view. "Just a bit overwhelmed by the crowd tonight."
"It's a terrifying room," Sarah whispered, glancing nervously toward the swinging doors. "Marietta has been glaring at the staff all evening. She fired one of the kitchen boys this morning just for dropping a spoon. She acts like she owns the place now."
"She doesn't own anything yet," Nadine said, her expressive brows drawing together in a fierce, protective scowl.
At her feet, a soft whine broke the tension. Rex, the family’s nine-year-old elderly Labrador, pressed his heavy head against Nadine’s knees. He wore a worn leather collar, and his front paws were still heavily stained with dark, wet mud. Rex had always been Lara’s dog. Since she vanished, he had paced the grounds restlessly, finally digging furiously in the pristine rose garden an hour before the dinner began.
"Rex, what did you find out there?" Sarah asked, reaching down to pet the dog's head. "Look at your paws, buddy. Marietta will have a fit if she sees mud on the marble floors."
"I'll take care of it," Nadine said, her tone absolute. She looked down at the loyal dog, her heart breaking for the truth he had unearthed. "You're a good boy, Rex. You did a good thing."
Nadine knew the braided design of the ring intimately. She had polished it on Lara’s finger for years. The narrative that Lara had simply packed a bag and abandoned her beloved son, Wyatt, had never made sense to Nadine. Now, holding the physical proof of foul play, the terrifying reality of the situation threatened to crush her.
She walked back toward the dining room doors, stopping just out of sight to observe the head table.
Beside Callan sat his seven-year-old son, Wyatt. The boy was dressed impeccably in a formal dinner jacket, a buttoned shirt, and polished shoes. Yet, the child looked entirely hollow. He stared blankly at his untouched porcelain plate, his small shoulders hunched inward. Whenever Marietta leaned close to him, the boy visibly recoiled, a deep, paralyzing terror flashing in his young eyes.
"Wyatt, you haven't touched your dinner," Marietta’s voice drifted over the ambient noise, sickeningly sweet. "You must eat, darling. You want to grow up to be strong like your father, don't you?"
May you like
Wyatt didn't answer. He simply stared at his lap, his small hands trembling.
Nadine’s grip on the muddy ring tightened until the braided metal bit painfully into her palm. She knew the cost of defying the lover of a mafia boss. She knew the violence Callan Cross was capable of. But looking at the terrified, motherless boy sitting at the table, she knew she could no longer remain silent. She took a deep breath, stepped out of the shadows, and walked into the golden light.
