Chapter 7
The silence in the grand dining room was a physical weight, pressing down on the chests of the elite guests who dared not draw a breath. The warm golden light from the crystal chandeliers suddenly felt incredibly harsh and exposing. The flickering flames of the ivory candles reflected in fifty pairs of wide, shocked eyes.
"This engagement is over," Donovan announced, his voice carrying flawlessly across the silent banquet tables.
"You can't do this!" Cressida shrieked, abandoning her polished demeanor completely. She lunged forward, her hands grasping at the air. "I am a Shaw! You need my family's territory in the north!"
"I do not need territory purchased with the blood of a child," Donovan replied, his tone absolute. He gestured slightly with two fingers toward the heavy mahogany doors. "Silas."
The senior capo immediately stood up from his velvet chair, unbuttoning his tailored suit jacket to reveal the dark holster beneath. "Yes, Boss."
"Will you and two of your men escort this woman to the holding cells in the sub-basement?" Donovan asked, not taking his cold stare off Cressida.
"No! Please, Donovan! You can't put me in a cell!" Cressida screamed, kicking wildly as Silas and two massive enforcers approached her, grabbing her roughly by her arms and hauling her away from the table.
"Will you ensure she is kept entirely isolated?" Donovan continued, completely ignoring her thrashing and screaming. "We will discuss the exact nature of her punishment once I have verified her family had no knowledge of this."
"My father will kill you!" Cressida screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria as the men dragged her backward, the delicate fabric of her emerald gown tearing audibly.
"Let him try," Donovan replied quietly, finally turning his back on her.
Cressida's frantic, desperate screams echoed down the long, marble corridor as she was dragged toward the heavy doors. The doors slammed shut with a definitive, echoing thud, sealing the dining hall in a profound, heavy silence.
Donovan turned his attention back to the room. He looked at the fifty guests who were staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. The festive evergreen garlands and the sparkling Christmas tree felt entirely absurd against the backdrop of a thwarted murder plot.
"Are you all waiting for dessert, or have you lost your appetites?" Donovan asked the crowd, his deep voice carrying a cold, dismissive edge.
The spell broke. The elite guests scrambled for the exits, eager to escape the unpredictable wrath of the mafia boss. Chairs scraped loudly against the cream marble floor as they hurried out, leaving their untouched gold-rimmed porcelain and crystal glasses behind. Within minutes, the vast, luxurious room was entirely empty of civilians, leaving only a few trusted guards, Donovan, Mara, and Evan.
Donovan let out a long, slow breath. The rigid tension in his broad shoulders relaxed by a fraction of an inch. He turned his full attention back to the woman and child standing behind him.
Mara was on her knees on the marble floor, her rumpled white apron pooling around her. She was clutching the tiny white shoes to her chest, rocking slightly back and forth, consumed by a fresh, agonizing wave of grief. Evan was standing beside her, his small hand resting gently on her shoulder, offering silent comfort.
Donovan walked slowly to them. He dropped to one knee, completely ignoring the crease it put in his expensive tailored trousers. He reached out, his heavily tattooed hands gently enveloping Mara’s shaking shoulders.
"Mara," Donovan whispered, his voice losing the lethal edge it had carried moments before, softening into a quiet, intimate register. "I am so deeply sorry."
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Mara looked up, her puffy, shadowed eyes meeting his. "She killed her, Mr. Hale. She killed my Lily."
"I know," Donovan said, his own eyes burning with unshed emotion. "And she will pay for it. I swear to you on my life, she will pay for every tear you have shed."
