Chapter 5
Marcus, a towering man with a heavily scarred face and a dark trench coat, stepped into the room, flanked by two equally intimidating enforcers. They moved with absolute, silent precision, ignoring the lavish surroundings of crystal and ivory, focusing entirely on their boss.
"Will you escort my former mistress to the holding cells in the sub-basement?" Vincent asked, not taking his eyes off the weeping woman backed against the far wall.
"No! Please!" Elara shrieked, kicking and thrashing wildly as the two enforcers reached out and grabbed her by the arms. They hauled her to her feet with effortless strength, the delicate fabric of her sculpted satin gown tearing audibly at the seams. "My father will slaughter your entire family for this!"
"Will you ensure she is gagged if she continues to scream, Marcus?" Vincent inquired, casually adjusting the cuff of his dark suit.
Marcus nodded grimly. "Yes, boss. Let's go, princess."
The enforcers dragged Elara backward toward the doors. Her threats devolved into hysterical, panicked sobs that echoed down the grand hallway until the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, sealing the dining room in a profound, suffocating silence once more.
Vincent stood perfectly still for a long moment. The tension slowly bled out of his powerful shoulders. He turned his head, his thick, slightly wavy hair catching the light of the chandeliers, and looked across the room to where his wife was standing with the housemaid.
Diana was shaking. Her sophisticated black maid dress felt incredibly thin in the aftermath of the violence. She had just witnessed the destruction of the current regime, all because she had investigated a draft of air. She looked at the mafia boss, terrified of the unpredictable storm that was surely about to consume the estate.
Vincent walked slowly toward the carved marble fireplace. He stopped a few feet away from Natalie, looking deeply into the hollow, exhausted eyes of the woman he had loved and lost.
"Are you harmed anywhere else, Natalie?" Vincent asked, his deep voice softening just a fraction, losing the lethal edge it had carried moments before. He gently reached out, his tattooed hand hovering over her cheek before he softly brushed a stray lock of dirty hair behind her ear.
"I'm just so cold, Vincent," Natalie whispered, leaning into his touch, her fair, rosy skin pale from a year without sunlight. "I thought you would never hear me. I knocked on that wood every single day."
"Would I have ever stopped tearing this house apart if I had known you were inside it?" Vincent asked, pulling her gently against his chest, holding her fragile frame in a fierce, bone-crushing embrace. He closed his eyes, fighting back a wave of agonizing guilt that threatened to drown him. How had he slept under this roof while she suffered in the dark?
Vincent stood up straight, keeping one arm securely around his wife's waist to support her weight. He turned his attention back to Diana.
"Are you injured, Diana?" Vincent asked quietly, his perceptive eyes searching her softly oval face and elegant posture.
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"I am unharmed, sir," Diana answered, her voice trembling slightly as she kept her hands folded over her neatly tied white apron. "But... I know what just happened. I know the Voss family will come for you because I opened that latch."
"Do you believe I would allow a woman who tortures my wife to remain in my home out of fear of her father?" Vincent asked, a flicker of profound, protective warmth entering his cold eyes as he looked at her.
