Chapter 2
The heavy silk curtains framing the tall windows seemed to absorb the quiet, desperate tension radiating from Delia as she approached the head table. Her footsteps were virtually silent on the thick Persian rug, yet the frantic, shallow wheezing of her breath sounded deafening in her own ears. The soft, clear illumination of the dining room revealed every face, offering absolutely no place to hide her physical distress.
Sitting rigidly at the table was six-year-old Peter Voss, Sterling’s son. Dressed impeccably in a small formal dinner suit with a loosened bow tie and polished dress shoes, the boy’s rosy cheeks were pale with anxiety. He had watched Clarissa take the inhaler, and his small hands were balled into tight, nervous fists in his lap.
Delia stepped up to the table, her slender fingers shaking as she lifted the heavy crystal pitcher. She poured water into the senator's glass, then moved to Peter's place setting. As she finished pouring the water and carefully set down the pitcher, her chest seized completely. Delia’s breathing became violently tight and shallow. A wave of dizziness washed over her. Desperate to remain standing, Delia steadied a trembling hand against the polished walnut table edge, trying with every ounce of her willpower to remain composed in front of the city's elite.
Sterling, whose cold, perceptive eyes missed absolutely nothing in his domain, noticed the sharp, devastating change in her expression. He watched the way the blood drained from her fair, rosy cheeks, leaving her looking fragile and terrified.
Sterling moved with a deliberate, predatory grace. He stepped smoothly beside Delia, bringing his imposing, masculine frame close to her trembling silhouette. He met Delia’s panicked eyes.
"Delia. Where is your inhaler?"
Sterling’s voice was deep, quiet, and incredibly deliberate, vibrating with a measured, controlled pause. The sheer, commanding authority in his tone sliced through the ambient chatter of the room like a straight razor.
The effect was instantaneous and absolute. Every single guest at the adjacent tables stopped eating and speaking. Forks hovered motionless over fine porcelain. Crystal wine glasses were lowered slowly. Dozens of fair, rosy-cheeked faces turned toward the head of the room, watching the mafia boss direct his terrifying, unbroken focus onto a housemaid.
Clarissa, standing beside the adjoining place setting, looked directly at Sterling. She did not flinch, attempting to maintain her high-society composure. She offered a small, entirely reasonable smile that did not reach her cold eyes. She reached into her small evening clutch and pulled out the small, plastic inhaler.
"After she apologizes," Clarissa stated smoothly, her American accent dripping with condescending superiority.
Clarissa placed the inhaler down onto the table beside the nearest wineglass. Her eyes frantically searched Sterling’s angular face for a sign of approval, silently urging him to support her twisted version of household discipline.
Sterling did not hesitate. His heavily tattooed hand reached out, picking up the inhaler from the damask cloth, and he immediately returned it to Delia.
Delia looked directly into Sterling’s eyes, her trembling fingers closing desperately around the plastic device. She brought it to her lips, inhaling the life-saving medicine. As the air rushed back into her burning lungs, tears of profound relief and humiliation gathered along her lower eyelids.
"I already did, sir," Delia whispered, her voice thin and terribly wounded.
Her expressive brows lifted slightly, conveying a deep, agonizing helplessness rather than anger.
From his chair, Peter looked directly at Clarissa, his brow creasing with quiet, innocent confusion. "You said breathing costs extra."
May you like
The six-year-old repeated the words clearly, without understanding the full, horrifying cruelty of the statement.
Sterling’s gaze rested on Delia for one silent, agonizing beat. Then, Sterling slowly turned toward Clarissa. His cold eyes moved before his head followed. His sharply defined jaw firmed until the bone threatened to snap; his mouth became completely still. He held Clarissa’s eyes in cold, unwavering, terrifying silence. Every guest remained absolutely attentive, paralyzed by the overwhelming tension.
