Chapter 4
The silence in the grand dining room was a physical, suffocating weight. The cascading crystal chandeliers seemed to burn brighter, casting an unforgiving, luminous glow over the head table. Every single guest in the room had stopped eating and speaking, their heads turned toward the mafia boss, utterly paralyzed by the shocking disruption.
Declan’s expression became completely still. His face, normally an unreadable mask of cold authority, was locked in a state of stunned paralysis. He stared down at the three-year-old boy in the neat knitted vest and small dress shoes, his mind struggling to process the impossible reality standing before him. The boy's features were an undeniable, mirror image of his own.
Slowly, deliberately, Declan lifted his gaze from Asher and looked directly at the woman standing beside him.
His eyes locked onto Elora. The quiet romantic feelings that had haunted him for four long years, the grief of her sudden, unexplained disappearance, surged to the surface, warring with the cold, calculating nature of the mafia boss. He took in her movie-star beauty, the familiar curve of her delicate cheekbones, and the sophisticated black maid dress that felt entirely wrong on her.
"Elora," Declan said.
His deep, low voice dropped a full octave, resonating in the silent room. He allowed a long, agonizing pause to stretch between her name and his next words, the control in his voice masking a violent storm of emotion. He did not raise his volume, yet the threat and the desperation in his tone were palpable.
"Is this my son?" Declan asked.
The question hung in the warm golden air, heavy and lethal. The sheer vulnerability in his terrifying, intimidating eyes was something no one in the room had ever witnessed before.
Elora’s breath hitched in her throat. She looked down into his cold, observant eyes, her heart aching at the sight of the man she had never stopped loving. She opened her mouth to speak, to finally give him the truth she had tried so desperately to deliver for years.
"What is the meaning of this?" a senator gasped loudly, breaking the heavy silence. "Who let a servant bring a child in here?"
"Quiet," the underboss snapped, silencing the senator with a single, deadly glare.
Before Elora could force the words past her lips, Vivian moved. The sculpted satin of her evening gown rustled loudly as she shifted in her champagne velvet chair, immediately inserting herself into the fragile, electric space between Declan and Elora.
Vivian met Declan’s eyes with a faint, dismissive smile. She projected an aura of poised, aristocratic calm, completely unfazed by the shocking resemblance between the mafia boss and the child. Her diamond earrings sparkled in the clear lighting as she tilted her head, her fair, rosy skin perfectly powdered.
May you like
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Vivian sighed, her voice laced with a melodic, condescending pity. "Do not let this absurd display upset you on your birthday, Declan. It is a pathetic attempt at extortion."
She placed her manicured hand over Declan's tattooed one, her engagement ring flashing like a warning beacon.
