Chapter 8
Before Giselle could formulate another desperate lie to protect her fragile bargaining position, Elise Warren stepped forward. The housemaid’s elegant polish was replaced by a fierce, undeniable authority that demanded the attention of the room. She placed a comforting hand on Agnes’s frail shoulder before turning her beautiful, heart-shaped face toward the mafia boss.
“She doesn't deal with the Volkov compound directly, sir,” Elise stated, her voice ringing clearly over Giselle’s pathetic sobbing. “She is a coward. She uses an intermediary to insulate herself from the danger.”
Giselle’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with absolute horror. She stared at the maid in the black A-line dress as if she were looking at a ghost. “Shut up! You know nothing! You’re a maid!”
Elise ignored her entirely, keeping her gaze respectfully but firmly locked on Nathaniel. “Every third Thursday of the month, Miss Voss tells your security detail she is attending a private spa in the financial district. She goes in through the front entrance, changes her clothes, and leaves through the service elevator in the basement. She takes a yellow cab to the shipyards. She meets a man named Gregor inside Warehouse 42. He is the Volkov syndicate’s money launderer, and he is the one who brings her photographs of the twins to prove they are still alive.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Giselle’s mouth hung open in silent, paralyzed shock. The housemaid had not only discovered her betrayal; she had meticulously tracked her movements for months, dismantling her entire security protocol without anyone noticing.
Nathaniel’s cold, observant eyes narrowed slightly, absorbing the staggering tactical value of the woman in the white apron. He slowly turned his head back toward his fiancée, who was now trembling so violently she could barely remain upright on her knees.
“Did you genuinely think your little excursions to the docks were entirely invisible to everyone in this city?”
“I... I...” Giselle stammered, hyperventilating as the walls completely closed in on her. “How did she... she couldn't possibly...”
Nathaniel stepped closer to Giselle, his towering frame casting a long, dark shadow over her sculpted satin gown. The small neck tattoo above his collar seemed to pulse with his slowed, controlled breathing.
“How long did you truly believe a rat could scurry around in a lion’s den before being caught and slaughtered?”
Giselle began to hyperventilate in earnest, her hands clawing at the collar of her dress as if she were suffocating. The reality was inescapable. Her leverage was gone. Her intermediary was exposed. She was no longer necessary to the survival of the heirs. She was nothing more than a loose end in a room filled with people who wanted her dead.
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Nathaniel looked down at her with absolute, freezing contempt.
“What exactly did you say to Gregor during your last meeting at the shipyards?”
