Chapter 4
The crackling of the carved marble fireplace seemed deafening in the vast, empty dining room. Elara clutched the fabric of her evening gown, her hands shaking so violently that her ornate diamond bracelet rattled against her wrist.
"I was doing it for you!" Elara shrieked, losing her aristocratic composure entirely. Her American accent grew sharp and hysterical, bouncing off the gilded moldings. "She was weak, Vincent! She hated the business! She was going to leave you and take your secrets with her! I am strong enough to stand beside a king! I did it for us!"
The confession tumbled from her lips in a rush of panicked adrenaline. She clamped her hands over her mouth the second the words escaped, realizing she had just admitted to imprisoning the mafia boss's wife in his own home.
"Did you think I would crown a woman whose hands are stained with the torture of my family?" Vincent asked, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her. His polished leather shoes made no sound on the hardwood, giving him the aura of a phantom stalking its prey.
"You needed me!" Elara sobbed, real tears of panic finally spilling over her cheeks as she backed away. "I comforted you! I held this syndicate together while you grieved! If you touch me, my father will start a war that will burn this city to the ground!"
"Do you think the threat of a war frightens me more than a traitor sleeping in my bed?" Vincent inquired, tilting his head slightly. The cold, perceptive eyes narrowed into dark, lethal slits.
Natalie, leaning heavily on Diana’s shoulder, let out a ragged breath. "She didn't do it alone, Vincent. The heavy metal door inside the wall... she couldn't have built it by herself. Someone installed the deadbolts. Someone brought the cement."
Vincent stopped his advance. He processed the information instantly, the gears of his criminal empire turning behind his cold eyes. He looked at Elara, who was now weeping openly, her flawless makeup ruined.
"Who installed the locks on the cage you built in my home?" Vincent asked, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet rumble.
"I won't tell you!" Elara screamed, defiance flashing briefly through her terror. "If you kill me, you'll never find the rat in your crew! You need me alive!"
"Do you believe death is the worst thing I can inflict upon you?" Vincent asked softly.
He didn't wait for her to process the absolute lack of mercy in his gaze. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit, his refined artistic tattoos catching the golden light, and withdrew a heavy, encrypted mobile phone.
"Are you waiting in the grand foyer, Marcus?" Vincent asked into the receiver, his voice completely devoid of emotion. He paused, listening to his unseen underboss. "Will you bring two men into the dining room immediately?"
Elara gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in sheer, unadulterated terror. She knew exactly what Marcus did for the Crowne family. He was the man who made Vincent’s problems disappear into the icy depths of the harbor.
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"No! Vincent, please!" Elara shrieked, kicking off her expensive heels and scrambling backward across the hardwood floor. "You can't do this! I am an elite! My family will kill you!"
"Will they wage a war for a woman who buries wives in the walls?" Vincent asked, as the heavy mahogany doors of the dining room swung open behind him.
