Chapter 8
Vincent crumpled to the plush carpet, gasping for air and clutching his bruised throat. The bright, neutral white lighting of the office offered no hiding place for his utter humiliation. He looked up at Roland, his fair, rosy skin now pale and slick with a cold sweat. The realization that he had nearly crossed the line of no return with the most ruthless Mafia boss in the city finally shattered his arrogance.
"Get him out of my sight," Roland commanded softly, not even bothering to look down at the gasping man.
The two bodyguards immediately stepped into the room. They hauled Vincent roughly to his feet by his suit jacket, their expressions completely devoid of sympathy.
"Wait," Vincent croaked, his American accent strained as they dragged him toward the hallway. "Roland, you can't just end the alliance like this. The other families... they will see this as an act of aggression. They will come for you."
"Let them come," Roland replied, his deep, raspy voice echoing with absolute, terrifying confidence. "I have never lost a war, Vincent. I do not intend to start now."
The bodyguards shoved Vincent out the door and pulled it shut, the heavy oak sealing with a definitive, echoing click.
The silence that rushed back into the room was heavy and profound. Mavis stood near the edge of the mahogany desk, her breathing shallow. She had spent two years locked in a damp basement, terrified of the world above. Now, she had just witnessed the man who owned that world dismantle a powerful crime syndicate with a single, brutal gesture.
Roland turned slowly away from the door. He adjusted the cuffs of his dark three-piece suit, the movement highlighting the negative space in the artistic tattoos on his hands. His angular face, high-bridged nose, and sharply defined jawline settled back into an expression of measured, cold control.
He looked at Mavis. The beautiful young woman in the fitted maid dress looked entirely out of place in the center of the violent power struggle, yet she was the very catalyst for it all.
"Are you harmed?" Roland asked, his volume dropping into a low, surprisingly gentle register.
"No, sir," Mavis whispered, shaking her head. The white lace headband slipped slightly in her hair. "I am just... I have never seen anything like that."
"This is the reality of the world you have been dragged into, Mavis," Roland said, walking slowly back around the desk. "Camellia tried to shield her incompetence by burying you in it. But you survived."
"She told me you were a monster," Mavis admitted, her voice trembling as she looked into his intimidating eyes. "She said you would kill me without a second thought if I ever crossed you."
Roland paused. A dark, humorless smirk touched the corners of his mouth.
"I am a monster, Mavis," Roland murmured softly, staring out the large window into the bright, cinematic daylight of the city. "I run an empire built on blood and fear. But I am a monster with principles. I do not tolerate liars. And I absolutely protect what is mine."
Mavis felt a sudden, electric jolt race down her spine at his words. "What is yours, sir?"
Roland turned his head, his cold eyes locking onto hers with a burning, intense focus.
"The art," Roland said slowly, the measured pauses adding weight to every syllable. "And the artist."
May you like
Mavis swallowed hard. She looked down at her stained white apron, the murky rinse water still clinging to the fabric. "I don't belong here, Mr. Ashcroft. I am just a housemaid. I don't know how to survive in this world."
"You are not a maid," Roland repeated, taking a step toward her. "You are the most brilliant painter I have ever seen. And you are going to prove it."
