Chapter 8
Marcus, a towering man with a heavily scarred face and a dark trench coat, stepped into the room, flanked by two equally intimidating enforcers. They moved with absolute, silent precision, ignoring the lavish surroundings of crystal and ivory, focusing entirely on their boss.
"Will you escort this woman to the holding cells in the sub-basement?" Callan asked, not taking his eyes off the weeping woman backed against the carved marble fireplace.
"No! Please!" Marietta shrieked, kicking and thrashing wildly as the two enforcers reached out and grabbed her by the arms. They hauled her to her feet with effortless strength, the delicate fabric of her sculpted satin gown tearing audibly at the seams. "My father will slaughter your entire family for this!"
"Will you ensure she is gagged if she continues to scream, Marcus?" Callan inquired, casually adjusting the cuff of his dark suit.
Marcus nodded grimly. "Yes, boss. Let's go, princess."
The enforcers dragged Marietta backward toward the doors. Her threats devolved into hysterical, panicked sobs that echoed down the grand hallway until the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, sealing the dining room in a profound, suffocating silence once more.
Callum stood perfectly still for a long moment. The tension slowly bled out of his powerful shoulders. He turned his head, his thick, slightly wavy hair catching the light of the crystal chandeliers, and looked across the room to where Nadine was standing.
Nadine was shaking. Her sophisticated black maid dress felt incredibly thin in the aftermath of the violence. She had just witnessed the destruction of a massive mafia alliance, all because she had brought a muddy ring to the dinner table. She looked at the mafia boss, terrified of the impending war that was surely about to consume the estate.
Callan walked slowly back to the table. He dropped to one knee on the polished hardwood floor, completely ignoring the crease it put in his expensive trousers, bringing himself down to his son's eye level.
"Are you harmed anywhere else, Wyatt?" Callan asked, his deep voice softening just a fraction, losing the lethal edge it had carried moments before. He gently reached out, taking Wyatt's small hands into his own, his thumbs brushing over the boy's knuckles.
"No, Papa," Wyatt whispered, his lower lip trembling as he looked into his father's eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. She said if I told you, she would bury me with Mommy."
"Would I ever let a monster lay a finger on you while there was breath in my lungs?" Callan asked, his chest tightening with an agonizing guilt. He looked at his son, realizing how deeply the woman had terrorized the boy right under his nose.
Wyatt let out a small, broken sob and threw his arms around Callan’s neck. Callan caught him, pulling the boy tightly against his broad shoulders. He buried his face in his son's hair, holding him in a fierce, bone-crushing embrace. He closed his eyes, fighting back the murderous rage that threatened to consume him.
Callan stood up slowly, lifting Wyatt effortlessly into his arms, holding the boy securely against his chest. He turned his attention back to Nadine.
"Are you injured, Nadine?" Callan asked quietly, his perceptive eyes searching her delicately featured face.
May you like
"I am unharmed, sir," Nadine answered, her voice trembling as she kept her hands folded over her neatly tied white apron. "But... I know what just happened. I know the Vale family will come for you because we spoke."
"Do you believe I would allow a woman who threatens my blood to remain in my home out of fear of her father?" Callan asked, a flicker of profound, protective warmth entering his cold eyes as he looked at her.
