Chapter 3
The vast dining hall felt cavernous without the guests. The only sounds were the crackling of the marble fireplace and the ragged, shallow breathing of Estelle Voss. The diamond earrings dangling from her lobes caught the flickering candlelight, trembling violently with every movement she made. She paced the length of the head table, her sculpted satin gown rustling aggressively.
“She is trying to destroy us, Lawrence,” Estelle hissed, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at Cleo. “Look at her! She’s jealous. She cleans our floors and makes our beds, and she thinks she can manipulate her way into your good graces by weaponizing a traumatized child!”
Cleo did not flinch under the verbal assault. She kept one hand resting gently on the back of Hugo’s velvet chair, providing a silent anchor for the terrified boy. Her elegantly gathered French twist remained flawless, her posture radiating a polished dignity that starkly contrasted with Estelle’s unraveling composure.
Lawrence kept his back turned to Estelle for a moment. He looked down at Cleo, his cold, observant eyes scanning her beautiful, softly oval face. He studied her expression, searching for any sign of deception. There was none.
“How long has my son been speaking to you, Cleo?”
“For three months, sir,” Cleo answered smoothly, her voice steady despite the terrifying proximity of the mafia boss. “He began speaking to me in the gardens, when Miss Voss was out of the house attending her dress fittings. He only whispers, and only when he is absolutely certain she cannot hear him.”
Estelle let out a dramatic, breathless gasp. “Three months? You claim he has been talking for three months, and you kept it a secret from his own father? Lawrence, she is a liar and a traitor! She should be dragged out of this house immediately!”
Lawrence slowly turned his head, his sharp jaw casting a dark shadow over his collar.
“Did I ask for your input on my household management, Estelle? Do you feel you possess the authority to dismiss my employees?”
Estelle swallowed hard, taking a step back as Lawrence’s towering frame shifted toward her. “I am your fiancée, Lawrence. I am going to be the lady of this house. I will not stand by while a maid—”
“Will you close your mouth until I ask you a direct question?” Lawrence interrupted, his deep, quiet voice echoing with absolute authority.
Estelle’s mouth snapped shut. Her rosy skin paled drastically, realizing for the first time that the man she was marrying was not going to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Lawrence turned his attention back to the young boy sitting rigidly in his chair. Hugo’s small hands were gripping the edges of the polished walnut table so tightly that his knuckles were white. The boy was staring at the crystal water glass in front of him, terrified of the woman standing just feet away.
Lawrence crouched down slowly, his tailored dark suit pulling tight across his powerful shoulders. He brought himself down to eye level with his son. The small neck tattoo above his collar was fully visible now.
“Why did you not tell me she hurt your mother, Hugo? Did you believe I could not protect you from her?”
Hugo’s lower lip quivered. He looked past his father’s broad shoulders, his frightened eyes locking onto Estelle’s face. Estelle glared at the boy, a silent, deadly promise in her eyes.
Cleo stepped forward, breaking protocol to shield the boy from Estelle’s line of sight.
“He didn't tell you, Mr. Crowe, because she promised to do to him exactly what she did to his mother if he ever uttered a word of it to you.”
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Lawrence remained perfectly still in his crouched position. He didn't blink. The silence stretched out, thick and suffocating, before he finally spoke.
“Is this true, Hugo? Did she threaten your life under my own roof?”
