Chapter 4
The mass exodus from the grand drawing room was swift and silent. The elite guests, eager to escape the blast radius of the mafia boss's impending wrath, scrambled toward the massive double doors. They abandoned their champagne glasses and festive cheer, keeping their eyes averted from the terrifying scene at the center of the room. Within ninety seconds, the sprawling space was completely empty, save for Beckett, Clarissa, Ella, Oliver, and the heavy security detail standing silently by the walls.
The bright, airy luminosity of the room now illuminated only the raw, ugly truth of the betrayal.
Beckett looked down at Ella, his expression softening for a fraction of a second. The gentle maid was trembling violently, her delicate hands clutching her rumpled apron.
"Ella," Beckett said, his tone shifting into a register of profound, quiet authority. "Take Oliver upstairs to my private quarters. Lock the doors. Allow no one inside but my personal guard."
"Yes, Mr. Vale," Ella whispered, her voice shaking with adrenaline. She gently took the six-year-old boy’s hand, offering him a small, watery smile. "Come along, Oliver. Let's go upstairs."
As the maid and the child hurried out of the room, their footsteps echoing softly against the marble, Beckett turned his full, terrifying attention back to the woman in the emerald gown. He slipped the tiny red stocking into the inner pocket of his tailored suit.
"Now," Beckett said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You are going to tell me exactly who you sold my child to."
"I will not tell you anything!" Clarissa shrieked, backing away until her spine hit a carved walnut column. "If I give you a name, you will kill me! My silence is the only leverage I have left to walk out of this mansion alive!"
"Do you believe leverage exists for a woman who has just admitted to kidnapping my blood?" Beckett countered, stepping closer, his imposing frame blocking her escape.
"My father will not stand for this!" Clarissa cried, her diamond earrings swinging wildly. "He is a powerful man, Beckett! He will bring the entire Shaw syndicate down on your head! You cannot touch me!"
"Do you expect me to fear a corrupt politician more than I despise a monster standing in my home?" Beckett asked, his dark eyes narrowing into cold, unforgiving slits.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He turned his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the four heavily armed guards stationed near the service doors.
"Are you men going to secure this traitor, or must I break her legs myself before we walk downstairs?" Beckett asked, his command absolute.
Two massive enforcers stepped forward instantly, moving with terrifying, synchronized efficiency. They grabbed Clarissa roughly by the arms, entirely ignoring the expensive fabric of her luxurious emerald gown.
"Get your hands off me!" Clarissa screamed as they dragged her backward toward the corridor. "I am Clarissa Shaw! I am going to be the lady of this house! Beckett, call them off!"
"Take her to the holding cells in the sub-basement," Beckett commanded, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "Ensure the temperature is dropped, and that she is stripped of all jewelry and communication devices."
"You are a dead man, Beckett!" Clarissa wailed as they hauled her through the heavy doors. "You hear me? You are a dead man!"
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"We will see," Beckett murmured, listening as the heavy oak doors slammed shut, instantly cutting off her frantic, echoing screams.
The grand drawing room was plunged back into a profound, ringing silence. The towering Christmas tree continued to sparkle, a surreal, festive backdrop to the brutal mafia justice that had just been executed. Beckett stood perfectly still for a long moment, the adrenaline of the confrontation slowly ebbing, leaving behind a profound, aching exhaustion and a burning, violent need to find his child.
