Chapter 8
Marcus didn't wait for a response. He slowly turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the silent, paralyzed guests.
"Is this engagement dinner concluded?" Marcus asked the room at large.
The question was 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 Marcus, Edith, Tobias, Antonia, and a dozen heavily armed, white American security guards standing quietly in the shadows near the carved marble fireplace.
"What are you going to do to me?" Antonia whispered, genuine fear replacing her arrogance as she stared at the men holding her arms.
"Will my men escort you to the lower levels, or will you walk there yourself to await my judgment?" Marcus asked softly, gesturing with a heavily tattooed hand toward the armed guards.
Antonia 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.
The bright, luminous colors of the dining hall felt like a stark, surreal backdrop to the devastating emotional resolution unfolding at the head of the table. Marcus remained perfectly still in the wheelchair, his tailored dark suit an anchor of masculine authority in the chaotic aftermath. He took a slow, controlled breath, the tension bleeding out of his broad, powerful shoulders.
He turned his full attention back to the beautiful housemaid and his young son. The cold, terrifying edge of the Mafia boss softened considerably as he looked down at Tobias.
The seven-year-old boy was crying softly, burying his face in his hands. The relief of finally speaking the truth, combined with the crushing terror of the evening, was overwhelming.
Marcus slowly leaned forward in the wheelchair. He reached out with his heavily tattooed hand, his fingers moving with profound, unexpected gentleness. He placed his large palm on the back of Tobias's formal dinner jacket, offering a heavy, grounding weight.
"Are you safe now, my son?" Marcus asked, his deep voice returning to a warm, comforting rumble.
Tobias sniffled, looking up at the imposing man with wide, innocent eyes. He nodded slowly, throwing his small arms around his father's neck, burying his face in Marcus's shoulder. Marcus closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, holding the boy tightly, an overwhelming surge of grief and protective fury crashing over him.
After a long moment, Marcus pulled back slightly. He turned his perceptive gaze toward the housemaid who had risked everything, utilizing pure physical strength and unwavering courage to protect the life of the boss.
Edith stood quietly in her sophisticated black maid dress, her hands still resting firmly on the wheelchair handles, ensuring he did not roll an inch. Her softly rounded face was pale from the adrenaline, but her expressive brows were relaxed.
"Do you understand the magnitude of the debt I owe you tonight, Edith?" Marcus asked, looking deeply into her delicate features.
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Edith’s fair, rosy cheeks flushed a delicate pink under his intense, perceptive gaze. "I only did what was right, sir. I couldn't let you fall."
"Is bravery not the rarest commodity in our world?" Marcus questioned, bowing his head slightly in a profound gesture of respect.
