Chapter 9
The heavy oak doors of the study flew open. Two massive men in dark suits, Lawrence’s personal enforcers, stepped into the room. They took one look at the weeping woman on the floor in her ruined satin gown and immediately understood the situation. They stood silently by the door, awaiting their boss’s command.
Lawrence did not look at them immediately. He turned his attention to the leather sofa. Hugo was trembling violently, his small hands clutching the fabric of Cleo’s black dress. The seven-year-old had finally spoken the truth, but the resulting violence had clearly overwhelmed him.
Lawrence’s sharp features softened slightly as he looked at his son.
“Will you take my son upstairs to his private quarters, Cleo? Will you remain with him until I have concluded my business in this room?”
Cleo nodded quickly, standing up and taking Hugo’s small hand in hers. “Yes, Mr. Crowe. I will not leave his side.”
Hugo stopped as they reached the door. He turned back to look at his father. The boy’s pale, rosy face was streaked with tears, but a profound sense of relief was beginning to settle in his eyes.
“Are you going to make her go away forever, Daddy?” Hugo asked softly.
Lawrence walked over to his son. He knelt down one last time, ignoring the ruined mascara and the terrified sobbing coming from the fireplace. He placed a gentle, tattooed hand on Hugo’s cheek.
“Have I ever failed to protect you from the monsters in the dark, my son?”
Hugo shook his head. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his father’s neck for a brief moment before stepping back and following Cleo out of the room. The heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving Lawrence alone with his men and his fiancée.
The air in the study immediately grew ten degrees colder. Lawrence stood up, his towering frame returning to its rigid, intimidating posture. He walked slowly back to his mahogany desk, pulling a crisp, white handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe a spot of dirt from his signet ring.
Estelle looked up at the two enormous enforcers standing by the door, then back to Lawrence. Pure, unadulterated terror seized her throat.
“Lawrence, you can't do this. I know too much about your operations! If I disappear, the feds will start digging! The rival families will use this against you! You need me alive to keep up appearances!”
Lawrence tossed the handkerchief onto the desk. He leaned over the polished wood, his thick, slightly wavy hair catching the green light of the desk lamp. His cold, observant eyes locked onto hers with the weight of a judge handing down a final sentence.
“Do you honestly believe I haven't already dismantled every single piece of leverage you thought you possessed? Do you think I would confront you without having already erased your existence from my accounts, my properties, and my life?”
Estelle gasped, the air rushing out of her lungs. He had planned this for months. While she was busy ordering flowers and trying on wedding gowns, he had been systematically destroying her digital and financial footprint.
Lawrence gestured slightly with one hand toward the enforcers at the door.
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“Did you truly believe you were smart enough to outplay the man who built this empire from blood and ash?”
The two men stepped forward, their heavy boots thudding ominously against the Persian rug as they moved toward the fireplace. Estelle screamed, scrambling backward until her spine hit the cold marble of the hearth.
