Chapter 2
The heavy silk curtains framing the tall windows seemed to absorb the suffocating tension radiating from Owen as he clung desperately to the housemaid. Elena’s breath caught in her throat. Her delicate cheekbones drained of their natural rosy color. The soft, golden illumination of the room suddenly felt blinding and interrogative.
Sebastian, whose cold, observant eyes missed absolutely nothing in his domain, instantly noticed the terrified interaction. He stopped moving entirely, his polished leather shoes coming to a halt right beside his son’s velvet chair. He watched the way the five-year-old boy gripped the white apron, attempting to physically shield the housemaid, and he heard the desperate, impossible word his son had used.
Mommy.
The mafia boss did not move frantically. The absolute stillness of his muscular, masculine frame was infinitely more dangerous. He slowly lowered his tattooed hands.
He turned his head. He looked past his trembling son and locked his gaze directly into Elena’s expressive, horrified eyes. The quiet mutual affection they had always shared was momentarily eclipsed by a terrifying, unyielding scrutiny.
"Elena. Why is Owen afraid?"
Sebastian’s voice was deep, quiet, and incredibly deliberate. He spoke exclusively in questions, a chilling linguistic habit that stripped away all defenses and demanded absolute, unvarnished truth. The measured, chilling pause after her name sliced through the ambient chatter of the room like a straight razor.
The effect was instantaneous and absolute. Every single dinner guest at the polished walnut 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 the housemaid and his son.
Vivienne, sitting in her champagne velvet chair, stiffened. The golden light caught the sudden pallor of her fair skin. She immediately leaned forward, meeting Sebastian’s cold gaze. She addressed him with a faint, reassuring half-smile that did not quite reach her eyes.
"Just a game, darling," Vivienne stated, her American accent dripping with condescending reassurance.
Her eyes frantically searched Sebastian’s angular expression, silently urging him to play along and not cause a scene in front of their powerful guests. She needed him to turn his attention away from the trembling maid and the terrified child. Her eyes briefly avoided Owen before returning to Sebastian, struggling to maintain the polished facade.
After speaking the lie, Vivienne shifted her gaze. She shot Owen a brief, venomous warning glance—a silent, terrifying command promising severe retribution if the five-year-old dared to contradict her.
Elena held Sebastian’s intense, unyielding gaze. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, and she was breathing unevenly, her chest rising and falling rapidly against the cinched waist of her black maid dress. She knew the extreme danger of crossing Vivienne Shaw, a woman whose family commanded a powerful syndicate of their own. But looking into Sebastian's perceptive eyes, Elena knew she could not lie to him. The vulnerable affection she felt for the mafia boss outweighed her fear of his fiancée.
Sebastian didn't look at Vivienne. He kept his eyes locked on Elena. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his heavily tattooed hand, offering his open palm to the housemaid.
Elena took a shallow breath. She gently rested her slender fingers against his warm palm. The contrast between his dark tattoos and her fair skin was stark under the chandelier light.
May you like
She looked directly into his eyes, her voice fragile but devastatingly clear in the silent room.
"Owen thinks you'll hurt me."
