Chapter 9
The dance lasted for three agonizing, beautiful minutes. For that brief window of time, the luminous ballroom felt like a fairy tale, entirely divorced from the violent, blood-soaked reality of the Faircroft syndicate. But as the final notes of the waltz faded into the high, vaulted ceiling, the illusion shattered.
Aldous and Carys slowed to a halt in the center of the dance floor. He did not release her waist immediately, savoring the warmth of her proximity.
The silence that followed the music was heavy, pregnant with unspoken threats. The fifty guests were no longer whispering; they were staring with hard, calculating eyes. The donors, uncomfortable with the sudden violence and the scandalous display of affection, began moving toward the cloakrooms. The capos, however, stood their ground, their faces unreadable masks.
"Boss," Vincent’s voice broke the silence. The older capo walked onto the edge of the dance floor, his expression grim. "We have a situation."
Aldous finally stepped back from Carys, though he kept one hand firmly clasped around hers. The gentle lover vanished, replaced instantly by the cold, calculating mafia boss.
"What is it, Vincent?" Aldous asked, his voice returning to its sharp, commanding tone.
"It's Fintan's men," Vincent said, lowering his voice so the remaining guests couldn't hear. "The two bodyguards you let walk away? They didn't leave the property. They bypassed the front gates and went straight to the east wing armory. They've rallied the men loyal to the old regime."
Aldous’s jaw tightened. "How many?"
"At least twenty heavily armed men, sir," Vincent replied, his eyes flicking nervously toward the grand mahogany doors of the ballroom. "They've locked down the perimeter. We're trapped in this wing. They are demanding Fintan's release, and they are demanding your head."
Carys’s grip on Aldous’s hand tightened painfully. Her expressive eyes widened with sheer terror. The romantic fantasy of the dance evaporated, replaced by the terrifying reality of a mafia civil war erupting in the middle of a charity ball.
"They intend to storm the ballroom?" Aldous asked, his voice terrifyingly calm.
"Yes, Boss. Any minute now," Vincent confirmed. "We only have ten loyal men inside this room. We are severely outgunned."
Aldous turned his head, looking down at Carys. Her face was pale, but she wasn't crying. The fierce, protective light had returned to her eyes.
"Are you afraid, Carys?" Aldous asked softly.
"Yes," Carys answered honestly. "Are you?"
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"I am afraid of losing you," Aldous replied, squeezing her hand. He turned back to Vincent, his dark eyes burning with absolute, lethal resolve.
"Barricade the main doors with the dining tables," Aldous commanded, his deep voice echoing with unyielding authority. "Get the remaining civilians into the service corridors and lock them in the wine cellar. Hand out every weapon we have."
