Chapter 7
The absolute finality of Holden’s questions echoed cleanly off the carved ivory-paneled walls, sealing Lenora’s fate. The grand, luminous dining hall, bathed in the soft elegant warmth of the cascading crystal chandeliers, felt suddenly like a courtroom where a death sentence had just been handed down.
Lenora took another stumbling step backward. She looked across the table at the dozens of powerful white American men and women seated at the long tables. They were her peers, her family's allies, but not a single one moved to defend her. In the world of the syndicate, a boss's wife was untouchable, and Lenora had blatantly crossed that sacred line.
"You can't do this, Holden," Lenora hissed, panic mutating into cornered, vicious entitlement. "My family brings the eastern ports to this alliance. If you humiliate me based on the ramblings of a senile old man, my father will declare war. He will shut down your supply lines."
"Will he declare war?" Holden asked, tilting his head with dangerous curiosity. The loose strands of wavy hair falling over his forehead contrasted violently with the absolute, apocalyptic death promised in his cold eyes. "Or will he thank me for returning his defective, murderous daughter before she caused a war he could not possibly win?"
Lenora’s mouth dropped open. The color drained entirely from her lips. She realized she had absolutely no power left in the room. The alliance was dead, severed by her own psychopathic ambition.
"Get your hands off me!" Lenora screamed as two massive men in tailored dark suits stepped forward from the shadows and grabbed her by the arms. She thrashed wildly, her sculpted satin gown twisting awkwardly around her legs. "You are choosing a servant and a grave digger over a queen! You are a fool, Holden!"
"Are empires built by men who sleep beside the murderers of their own wives?" Holden inquired, entirely unaffected by her venom.
He didn't wait for a response. He slowly turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the silent, paralyzed guests.
"Is this engagement dinner concluded?" Holden asked the room at large.
The question was rhetorical, a lethal command disguised as an inquiry. The guests immediately understood. Chairs scraped softly against the polished marble floors as the most powerful men and women in the American mafia stood up in unison. They didn't speak. They didn't offer their goodbyes or polite pleasantries. They simply turned and began a swift, silent exodus from the luminous dining hall, eager to escape the blast radius of the Boss's impending wrath.
Within ninety seconds, the massive, opulent room was entirely empty of guests. The only people remaining in the dining hall were Holden, Daphne, Walter, Lenora, and a dozen heavily armed, white American security guards standing quietly in the shadows near the heavy silk curtains.
"What are you going to do to me?" Lenora whispered, genuine fear replacing her arrogance.
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"Will my men escort you to the lower levels, or will you walk there yourself to await my judgment?" Holden asked softly, gesturing with a heavily tattooed hand toward the armed guards.
Lenora let out a ragged, humiliated sob as the guards began to drag her toward the heavy double doors. Her furious, terrified screams echoed through the bright, airy room, fading only when the doors slammed shut, plunging the dining hall back into a profound, ringing silence.
