Chapter 5
Tristan withdrew a heavy, encrypted mobile phone from his pocket. His eyes never left Felicity’s tear-streaked face.
"Are you waiting in the grand foyer, Marcus?" Tristan asked into the receiver. He paused, listening to his underboss. "Will you bring two men into the dining room immediately?"
Felicity’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror. She knew exactly what Marcus did for the Kincaid family. He was the man who made Tristan’s problems disappear into the icy depths of the river.
"No! Tristan, please!" Felicity shrieked, kicking off her expensive heels and scrambling backward across the hardwood floor. "You can't do this! I am the only one who knows where she is! If you kill me, you will never find her!"
The threat hung in the air, a desperate, vicious final play. Tristan stopped his advance. His angular face remained an unreadable mask of stoic authority, but the muscles in his sharply defined jaw ticked violently.
"Do you believe death is the worst thing I can inflict upon you?" Tristan asked, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.
The heavy mahogany double doors of the dining room swung open violently. Marcus, a towering man with a heavily scarred face and a dark trench coat, stepped into the room, flanked by two equally intimidating enforcers. They moved with absolute, silent precision, ignoring the lavish surroundings and focusing entirely on their boss.
"Will you secure her, Marcus, and ensure she does not speak another word until I am ready to hear it?" Tristan asked, nodding toward the weeping woman backed against the marble fireplace.
The two enforcers reached out, grabbing Felicity by the arms. They hauled her to her feet with effortless strength, the delicate fabric of her sculpted silk gown tearing audibly at the seams.
"Get your hands off me!" Felicity thrashed wildly, her diamond earrings swinging like violent pendulums. "I loved you, Tristan! You owe me! I saved you from grief!"
"Will you gag her if she continues to scream?" Tristan inquired, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
Marcus nodded grimly. "Yes, boss. Let's go."
The enforcers dragged Felicity backward toward the doors. Her threats devolved into hysterical, panicked sobs that echoed down the grand hallway until the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, sealing the dining room in a profound, suffocating silence once more.
Tristan stood perfectly still for a long moment. The tension slowly bled out of his powerful shoulders. He turned his head, his thick, slightly wavy hair catching the light of the crystal chandeliers, and looked across the room to where Elsa was still standing behind the elderly midwife.
Elsa was shaking. Her sophisticated black maid dress felt incredibly thin in the aftermath of the violence. She had just witnessed the destruction of a mafia engagement, all because she had brought a terrified old woman out of the shadows. She looked at the mafia boss, terrified of the impending storm that was surely about to consume the estate.
"Are you injured, Elsa?" Tristan asked quietly, his perceptive eyes searching her delicately featured face.
"I am unharmed, sir," Elsa answered, her voice trembling as she kept her hands folded over her neatly tied white apron. "But... I know what just happened. She will use the girl as leverage."
"Do you think I will allow a monster to dictate the terms of my daughter's return?" Tristan asked, a flicker of profound, protective warmth entering his cold eyes as he looked at her.
"I didn't know what to expect, Mr. Kincaid," Elsa whispered, her expressive brows drawing together. "I just knew Ruth couldn't carry that secret anymore. I found her weeping near the service entrance three days ago. She said she couldn't die with that sin on her soul."
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"Did you think I would punish the only person with the courage to bring me the truth?" Tristan asked gently.
He didn't walk away. He stood there, his towering masculine frame casting a long shadow in the golden light. The rigid boundaries of class and wealth had been completely obliterated in the span of a single evening.
