Chapter 2
The bright, airy warmth of the dining room suddenly felt suffocating. The golden light cascading from the crystal chandeliers illuminated the profound heartbreak etched into Benjamin’s delicate, rosy features. The boy stood frozen beside the marble fireplace, his small hands still clutching the blackened fur of the teddy bear. Anastasia’s dismissive comment hung in the luminous space, a jagged, cruel stone dropped into the perfectly polished surface of the high-society celebration.
Hugo did not immediately look at his fiancée. His cold, perceptive eyes were drawn downward. He noticed the charred, smoking edges of the scorched fabric pressed against his son’s crisp white shirt. Then, his sharp gaze shifted slightly to the left, locking onto the stark white linen cloth wrapped hastily around Clara’s right hand.
The sharply defined jawline of the mafia boss tightened. The artistic tattoos across his hand shifted as his fingers curled slightly against the velvet back of his dining chair. He possessed an uncanny ability to read the subtle, violent shifts in a room, and the terror radiating from the beautiful housemaid was unmistakable. He slowly shifted his gaze from the trembling boy up to Clara's face.
He met her eyes. Clara’s softly tapered face was pale, all the rosy warmth draining away under the sheer intensity of his focus.
"Clara. Who burned his bear?" Hugo asked.
His deep, low voice was quiet and incredibly deliberate, vibrating with a measured, controlled pause after her name. The sheer, commanding authority in his tone sliced through the ambient chatter of the room like a straight razor.
The effect was instantaneous and absolute. Every single guest at the adjacent tables stopped eating. Forks hovered motionless over gold-rimmed porcelain. Crystal wine glasses were lowered slowly to the polished walnut tables. The polite, affluent American accents died in their throats. Dozens of fair, rosy-cheeked faces turned toward the head of the room, watching the mafia boss direct his terrifying, unbroken focus onto a servant.
Clara held Hugo’s intense, unyielding gaze. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She knew the extreme danger of crossing Anastasia Price, a woman whose jealousy knew absolutely no bounds. Anastasia had explicitly threatened her earlier that evening, warning her that any interference would result in immediate termination, or worse.
Her inner brows lifted slightly in a helpless, agonizing expression of dread. She swallowed hard, a visible, painful gulp in her throat, trying to force moisture into her dry mouth. Moisture gathered rapidly along her lower eyelids, making her beautiful eyes shine brilliantly under the flickering candlelight.
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"She burned it, sir," Clara answered.
Her voice was a small, frightened whisper, trembling under the weight of the luminous, crowded room. After speaking the devastating truth, she pressed her gently curved lips tightly together, her breathing shallow and erratic. She kept her uninjured hand resting lightly near Benjamin’s shoulder, terrified of the violence that admitting this reality might bring upon her. The absolute silence of the dining hall amplified her fragile words, exposing the ugly, violent betrayal hidden beneath the lavish engagement dinner.
