Fintan Faircroft thrust a damp mop into syndicate boss Aldous Faircroft’s chest

The luminous lights of the crystal chandeliers caught the gold of the family signet ring on Aldous’s finger as he slowly lowered his hand from Carys’s cheek. The tension in the ballroom was a physical weight. The capos still had their hands on their weapons, waiting for the execution order. Fintan was gasping for air, clutching his bruised ribs as his guards hauled him upright.

Aldous took a slow, deep breath, adjusting his freshly straightened bow tie. He finally broke his gaze away from Carys and looked out over the crowd.

"Stand down," Aldous commanded, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the large room. "Put your weapons away. This is a charity ball, not an execution chamber."

Vincent and the other capos slowly holstered their firearms, though their eyes remained locked suspiciously on Fintan’s guards.

Aldous turned his attention to his cousin. Fintan was shivering, completely drenched in dirty mop water, his face pale with pain and humiliation.

"Fintan," Aldous said, the cold, lethal edge returning to his voice. "You have mistaken my patience for weakness. You just attempted a public coup with a mop. And you were defeated by a woman with more courage in her little finger than you possess in your entire bloodline."

"She's a dead woman!" Fintan spat, coughing up dirty water. "You think the families will respect you after this? Protected by a maid?"

"I think the families will understand that anyone who touches what is mine will be broken," Aldous replied smoothly. "Take him to the basement holding cells. We will discuss his permanent exile in the morning."

"You can't do this!" Fintan screamed as Vincent and two other men grabbed him by the arms, dragging his wet, pathetic form toward the service doors. "I am a Faircroft!"

"Not anymore," Aldous said quietly.

As the doors slammed shut behind the screaming man, the music, which had been abruptly halted by the band, hesitantly began to play again—a slow, sweeping waltz.

Aldous turned back to Carys. She was standing quietly, her hands clasped nervously in front of her white apron. She had just upended the entire political structure of the syndicate, and she looked terrified of the consequences.

Aldous did not step away from her to address the donors. Instead, he took a step closer. Under the bright, cinematic light of the ballroom, in front of fifty staring guests, Aldous raised his arm and offered Carys his open, tattooed hand.