Chapter 7
The crackling of the carved marble fireplace seemed deafening in the vast, empty dining room. Marietta’s face, previously flushed with wine and the triumph of the evening, drained of all color until her rosy skin turned the shade of ash. She clutched the fabric of her sculpted satin gown, her hands trembling so violently her ornate bracelet rattled.
"I didn't mean to kill her!" Marietta shrieked, her voice shrill and desperate, bouncing off the ivory wall panels. "We argued! She fell! It was an accident, Callan, I swear it! I panicked! I knew you wouldn't believe me!"
Callan did not break eye contact with her. The silence stretched until it became agonizing.
"Do you expect me to believe a woman accidentally buries a body under three feet of soil?" Callan asked, his deep voice slicing through her pathetic lies.
"I was doing it for us!" Marietta cried, her voice pitching an octave higher as her panic fully set in. "You demand perfection in this house! She was holding you back! You needed a fresh start! We were going to rule together!"
Nadine stood her ground, keeping her hands gently resting on Wyatt's small shoulders, providing a solid anchor for the terrified boy. She refused to defend herself against the hysterical accusations Marietta had thrown earlier. The truth was already on the table, caked in mud.
"Did you think I would crown a woman whose hands are stained with the blood of my family?" Callan asked, stopping just a few feet away from her, his towering frame casting a long, dark shadow over her.
"You need me!" Marietta sobbed, real tears of panic finally spilling over her cheeks as she backed away, her satin gown catching on a velvet chair. "My family brings you the northern distribution lines! We built an empire together! If you touch me, my father will start a war that will burn this city to the ground!"
"Do you think the threat of a war frightens me more than a murderer sleeping in my bed?" Callan inquired, tilting his head slightly, the cold, perceptive eyes narrowing into dark, lethal slits.
He didn't wait for her to process the absolute lack of mercy in his gaze. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored dark suit, his refined hand tattoos catching the golden light, and withdrew a heavy, encrypted mobile phone.
"Are you waiting in the grand foyer, Marcus?" Callan asked into the receiver. He paused, listening to his unseen underboss. "Will you bring two men into the dining room immediately?"
Marietta gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in sheer, unadulterated terror. She knew exactly what Marcus did for the Cross syndicate. He was the man who made Callan’s problems disappear into the icy depths of the river.
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"No! Callan, please!" Marietta shrieked, kicking off her expensive heels and scrambling backward across the hardwood floor. "You can't do this! I am a Vale! My family will kill you!"
"Will they wage a war for a woman who buries mothers like dogs?" Callan asked softly, his voice completely devoid of emotion as the heavy dining room doors swung open behind him.
