Chapter 5
The silence stretching across the salon was absolute and apocalyptic. The fifty elite guests, capos, and relatives remained paralyzed, the festive Christmas reception completely obliterated by the exposure of such calculated, psychopathic cruelty.
Celeste’s eyes flicked nervously toward the heavy steel screws still resting in little Oliver’s open palm. The undeniable physical evidence of her sabotage was glaring under the crystal chandeliers. When her gaze returned to Damon, her defensive smile hardened into a mask of pure, feral arrogance. She believed her status as the daughter of a powerful allied family made her completely immune to the consequences of her actions.
"You are making a massive scene over a servant, Damon," Celeste stated, lifting her chin defiantly. "So what if I removed a few screws? A fall would’ve ended your little romance."
The sheer audacity of the confession, delivered in the presence of the mafia boss and his entire syndicate, was staggering. She hadn't denied the attempted murder; she had merely attempted to justify it as a necessary political and personal survival tactic, confirming her intense jealousy over the maid.
"My little romance?" Damon repeated slowly, tasting the absolute venom of her logic.
"Do not play the fool with me!" Celeste screamed, losing her mind entirely. "I see the way you look at her! I see the way you let her touch your son! I am supposed to be the lady of this house! I am the one who is supposed to raise your heir! I had to eliminate the distraction!"
Damon did not yell. He did not explode into physical violence. The quiet, deep, controlled manner in which he operated was far more terrifying than any shouted threat. He moved with preternatural speed, stepping smoothly into the space to position his broad, masculine body deliberately between Clara and Celeste.
It was a physical shield, an unmistakable declaration of absolute protection that stripped away Celeste's authority in a single, fluid movement. He remained beside Clara, gently but firmly supporting her elbow, anchoring the trembling maid to his side.
Oliver, finally sensing the suffocating, violent tension radiating through the adults, slowly lowered his small palm. He clutched his teddy bear tightly against his cream Christmas sweater, stepping behind his father's tailored trousers for safety.
Clara held the unplaced star tightly against her apron, her breath hitching as she stared at the broad back of the man protecting her.
Damon watched Celeste with a cold, unwavering stare. His sharp, angular jaw was set in stone.
"You attempted to cripple or kill a defenseless woman because of your own pathetic, barren insecurities," Damon stated with brutal, surgical precision. "You used my son as a pawn to carry the very instruments of your sabotage. You are a monster."
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"I am trying to build an empire with you!" Celeste cried, tears of frustration ruining her flawless makeup. "You are losing your edge! The other families are laughing at you for keeping a peasant as a pet! I took control because you were too weak to enforce the hierarchy yourself!"
"You have shown me," Damon replied softly, his pitch-black eyes promising absolute ruin, "that you are a fatal liability."
