Chapter 10
The transition from a luxurious memorial dinner to a high-stakes interrogation room was seamless and terrifying. The bright, airy lighting of the mansion continued to cast a soft elegant warmth across the deserted tables, completely oblivious to the dark reality of the criminal underworld.
Daphne sank to her knees on the thick patterned rug, her sculpted satin evening gown pooling around her. She buried her face in her manicured hands, weeping hysterically as the reality of her total destruction crashed over her. She was entirely alone, stripped of her name, her wealth, and her protection.
"Take her to the lower levels," Soren commanded, his voice dropping the question format for the first time, a stark indicator of his absolute, unyielding authority in matters of syndicate justice.
Two massive men in tailored dark suits stepped forward instantly. They hauled the weeping woman roughly to her feet and dragged her toward the heavy double doors of the dining hall. Her furious, terrified screams echoed through the bright, airy room until the doors slammed shut, plunging the hall back into a profound, ringing silence.
Soren remained standing near the table. He took a slow, controlled breath, the tension bleeding out of his broad, powerful shoulders. He turned his attention back to his mother.
The cold, terrifying edge of the Mafia boss softened considerably as he looked down at the frail seventy-two-year-old woman.
"Are you unharmed, Mother?" Soren asked gently, his deep voice returning to its measured, questioning cadence, though infused with warm, comforting paternal care.
"I am safe now, Soren. Thank you," Eleanor whispered, reaching out to squeeze his strong hand. "I am so sorry I couldn't tell you sooner. I was so frightened."
"Did I ever give you reason to doubt my protection?" Soren asked softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to her silver hair.
Eleanor smiled through her tears, shaking her head.
Soren then turned his perceptive gaze toward the beautiful housemaid who had risked everything to protect his family. Greta stood quietly in her sophisticated black dress, her hands neatly folded over her white apron. Her softly oval face was pale from the adrenaline, but her expressive brows were relaxed. She had just survived a confrontation that should have cost her her life.
"Will you assist my mother to her suite, Greta?" Soren asked softly, stepping slightly closer to her. The cinematic light caught the loose strands of hair falling over his forehead.
"Of course, Mr. Whitlock. I will stay with her as long as she needs," Greta replied, her American accent steady and respectful.
"Do you understand the magnitude of the debt I owe you tonight?" Soren asked, looking deeply into her expressive eyes.
Greta’s fair, rosy cheeks flushed a delicate pink under his intense, perceptive gaze. "I only did what was right, sir."
"Is bravery not the rarest commodity in our world?" Soren questioned, bowing his head slightly in a profound gesture of respect.
May you like
He watched as the beautiful maid gently helped his mother out of her chair and guided her toward the residential wing. As the doors clicked shut behind them, the heavy, quiet reality of the impending war rushed back into the room. Soren adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, the small neck tattoo catching the golden chandelier light. He had protected his mother, exposed his brother's killer, and found a new, fiercely loyal ally in his household. Now, he was prepared to unleash absolute hell upon the rival families who had backed Daphne's treason.
"Shall we begin?" Soren asked the empty room, stepping out of the bright, airy sanctuary and into the dark, violent night.
