Chapter 5
Two massive enforcers, dressed in dark tactical suits, stepped out from the shadows of the courtside exits. They moved with silent, brutal efficiency, pulling Cedric roughly away from the chain-link fence and securing his arms behind his back. Cedric thrashed weakly, his expensive loafers kicking up small clouds of red clay, but he was effortlessly overwhelmed.
“Kellan, stop! You can't do this!” Cedric shrieked, his polished arrogance entirely shattered. “I run this club! The members will ask questions! You need me to manage the front!”
Kellan stood perfectly still, straightening the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, entirely unbothered by his cousin’s hysteria. He looked at the trembling man with cold, calculating detachment.
“Do you assume I cannot find a dozen men infinitely more capable and loyal to manage a tennis club by tomorrow morning?” Kellan asked.
“You're insane! You are throwing away our family over a maid!” Cedric screamed, his diamond-studded wristwatch catching the fading cinematic sunlight as he struggled. “She is a peasant, Kellan! She cleans toilets! You are humiliating our name by protecting her!”
Kellan’s sharp jawline tightened dangerously. The distinct tattoo on his neck seemed to pulse with his measured breathing. He took one slow step toward his captive cousin.
“Have I ever tolerated anyone dictating the value of the people in my household?” Kellan asked softly. “Will you escort my former club director to the basement holding cells and ensure he has plenty of time to reflect on his actions?”
“Yes, Boss,” the lead enforcer nodded grimly.
They dragged Cedric backward across the clay court, his frantic, echoing screams bouncing off the high fences until they disappeared through the heavy metal doors of the service corridor.
The tennis court was finally silent, save for the gentle rustling of the wind through the nearby trees. The bright lighting of the afternoon began to shift into a softer, golden hue, casting long shadows across the red clay.
Kellan turned his broad shoulders and looked at Briony. The beautiful housemaid was standing near the padded bench, her hands clutched tightly in front of her white apron. Her sophisticated black dress seemed so delicate against the brutal backdrop of mafia politics.
He walked slowly toward her, his leather shoes crunching softly on the clay. He stopped just a few feet away, his towering, masculine presence providing a sudden, overwhelming sense of safety.
“Are you terrified of what you just witnessed, Briony?” Kellan asked, his deep voice softening into a register he reserved only for her.
Briony looked up, her expressive eyes meeting his. She shook her head slightly, her neatly pinned hair perfectly intact beneath the lace headband.
“No, sir. I am terrified of what he might have done to you if I hadn't moved,” she whispered, her American accent trembling slightly.
“Do you know how dangerous it was to put yourself between me and a man trying to prove a point?” Kellan asked, reaching out to gently touch the edge of the glass pitcher she had left on the table.
“I didn't care about the danger,” Briony admitted, her rosy skin flushing a deep, beautiful pink. “I couldn't just stand there and watch him hurt you.”
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Kellan looked at her, the quiet, unspoken affection that had simmered between them for years finally boiling to the surface.
“Did you truly believe I would ever let a single drop of harm come to you for defending me, Briony?” Kellan asked, stepping closer to her.
