Chapter 5
The heavy mahogany doors of the dining hall slammed shut, sealing the room. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned gold-rimmed porcelain and half-empty wine glasses. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt like a gilded cage.
Cressida backed away from the head table, her heels clicking unsteadily against the polished marble floor. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a defensive posture that highlighted the subtle curve of her pregnancy. Her diamond earrings shook as she wept, her carefully constructed facade entirely destroyed.
"Atticus, you cannot believe this," Cressida sobbed, her chest heaving. "My family arranged this marriage! We are supposed to unite our syndicates! You are going to throw all of that away because of a jealous child?"
Atticus stood immovably in his tailored dark three-piece suit. He released Evan’s hand and crouched down, bringing his handsome, angular face level with his son’s.
"Can you tell me exactly what you heard today, Evan?" Atticus asked gently.
Evan sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his small hand. He looked at Maren, who gave him an encouraging smile, before looking back into his father's cold, but loving, eyes.
"I was hiding behind the big curtains in the drawing room," Evan explained, his voice trembling but clear. "She was on the phone. She was crying. She said, 'He can never know the baby isn't his. If Atticus finds out, he'll kill us both.'"
Cressida let out a blood-curdling scream of denial. "He is lying! The maid put him up to this! She has been trying to seduce you since the day I moved in!"
Atticus rose slowly to his full height. He turned his broad, powerful shoulders toward his fiancée. The extremely short stubble on his jawline seemed to bristle with barely contained violence.
"Would Maren risk her life in this house to manufacture such a claim?" Atticus asked.
"Yes!" Cressida shrieked, pointing viciously at the housemaid. "Look at her! She thinks she's better than me just because she plays mommy to your little stray!"
Atticus didn't look at Maren. He kept his perceptive eyes locked entirely on Cressida, dissecting her panic, reading the guilt written plainly across her flushed, rosy skin. He had survived in the criminal underworld by being an unparalleled judge of human character. He knew when someone was lying to him.
"Are you capable of telling the truth, Cressida?" Atticus inquired, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her.
"I am carrying your child!" she wept, falling to her knees on the luxurious rug, the sculpted silk of her gown pooling around her. She clasped her hands together in a begging gesture. "Please, Atticus. I love you."
May you like
"Whose child are you carrying?" Atticus asked.
His voice dropped to a terrifying, gravelly whisper. It was a sound that had preceded the end of many men's lives. Cressida stared up at his movie-star handsome face, realizing with absolute, horrifying clarity that there was no escape. The mafia boss would not stop asking questions until he extracted the truth, and he would not hesitate to tear her world apart to find it.
