Chapter 5
The heavy doors clicked shut, plunging the vast, luminous dining hall into a profound, ringing silence. 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.
Felicity backed away from the head table, her heels clicking unsteadily against the polished floor. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a defensive posture that crushed the sculpted satin of her expensive gown. Her diamond earrings shook as she wept, her carefully constructed facade entirely destroyed.
"Ambrose, you cannot believe this," Felicity sobbed, her chest heaving. "My family arranged this marriage! We are supposed to unite our syndicates! Are you going to throw all of that away because of a jealous child and a lying maid?"
Ambrose stood immovably in his tailored dark three-piece suit. He slowly crouched down, bringing his handsome, angular face level with his daughter’s.
"Can you tell me exactly what you heard today, Maisie?" Ambrose asked gently, his deep voice softening to comfort the girl.
Maisie sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her small hand. She looked at Hollie, who gave her an encouraging, tearful nod, before looking back into her father's cold, but loving, eyes.
"I was walking with Hollie in the hallway," Maisie explained, her voice trembling but remarkably clear. "Felicity was in the parlor. She didn't see us. She was on the phone. She said, 'The girl is defective. She doesn't fit in. Once the wedding is over, I'm sending her back to the orphanage. Ambrose will forget about her.'"
Felicity let out a blood-curdling scream of denial. "She is lying! The maid told her to say that! She has been trying to take my place!"
Ambrose 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 Hollie risk her life in this house to manufacture such a claim?" Ambrose asked.
"Yes!" Felicity 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!"
Ambrose didn't look at Hollie. He kept his perceptive eyes locked entirely on Felicity, dissecting her panic, reading the absolute 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, and he knew the awful, crushing weight of the truth.
"Are you capable of telling the truth, Felicity, or must I extract it from you?" Ambrose asked, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her.
"I love you, Ambrose!" she wept, falling to her knees on the luxurious rug, the sculpted satin of her gown pooling around her. She clasped her hands together in a begging gesture. "Please, darling! She isn't your blood! I was trying to protect our future! I want to give you real children!"
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"Did you believe that discarding my daughter would secure your place at the head of this empire?" Ambrose asked.
His voice dropped to a terrifying, gravelly whisper. It was a sound that had preceded the end of many men's lives. Felicity stared up at his movie-star handsome face, realizing with absolute, horrifying clarity that there was no escape. The mafia boss had heard enough, and the consequences would be paid in blood.
