Chapter 7
The silence stretched, heavy and apocalyptic. Blair struggled against Gideon's iron grip, gasping in panic as she realized her coup had failed spectacularly. The polished, reassuring smile that usually charmed the syndicate members had completely evaporated, leaving behind a feral mask of desperation.
"Let me go!" Blair cried, trying to pry his tattooed fingers off her wrist. "You are making a catastrophic mistake, Gideon! My father will not stand for this! He will tear your empire apart!"
Gideon did not release her. He turned his dark, intense gaze toward the fifty guests, capos, and relatives seated around the massive banquet table. The warm fairy lights from the towering Christmas tree twinkled in the background, a stark, mocking contrast to the violence simmering in the mafia boss's broad shoulders.
"Do you all believe this family matter is a theatrical performance arranged for your holiday entertainment?" Gideon asked the crowd, his deep voice echoing off the gilded wall panels.
The unspoken threat was perfectly clear. Chairs scraped frantically against the cream marble floors. Men and women with fair, rosy skin paled in terror as they abandoned their half-eaten meals, fine wine, and festive cheer. They rushed toward the massive double doors, eager to escape the impending explosion of Crowne violence before they were forced to take a side.
"Clear the room," Gideon commanded his enforcers, who were already moving to usher the panicked guests into the hallways. "No one leaves the estate until I give the order."
Within ninety seconds, the sprawling dining hall was completely empty, save for Gideon, Blair, Esme, Maisie, and the heavy security detail standing silently by the exits.
Gideon finally released Blair's wrist, shoving her backward with a disgusted shove. She stumbled, her expensive emerald gown catching on the leg of a velvet dining chair. She caught her balance, her chest heaving as she stared at the man who had just dismantled her entire future in less than five minutes.
"You are a fool, Gideon," Blair spat, rubbing her bruised wrist. "You are throwing away a billion-dollar merger over a peasant girl who spreads her legs for the boss. You will be the laughingstock of the commission."
"I would rather be a laughingstock than a man who shares his bed with a child murderer," Gideon replied coldly, smoothing his tailored suit jacket.
He turned his attention back to Esme, his expression softening for a fraction of a second. The gentle maid was trembling, her delicate features pale with shock, yet she kept her arms wrapped protectively around her daughter.
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"Esme," Gideon said softly. "Will you take Maisie upstairs to my private quarters? Lock the door and do not open it for anyone but me."
"Yes, sir," Esme whispered, her expressive eyes wide with a mixture of fear and profound relief. She took Maisie's hand, leading the little girl away from the nightmare, disappearing through the heavy walnut doors and leaving Gideon alone with his treacherous fiancée.
