Freezing instantly, she stopped before handing the damaged cane to the mafia boss.

The oppressive silence in the dining hall was absolute, save for the faint, steady crackle of the logs burning in the marble fireplace. The golden highlights from the crystal chandeliers seemed to spotlight the dramatic tableau at the head of the table. Mara stood utterly paralyzed, her heart hammering a frantic, terrifying rhythm against her ribs. She kept the damaged cane firmly supported in both of her hands, terrified that even a slight shift in gravity would snap the fragile, sabotaged wood into pieces.

Before Mara could force her trembling lips to form a cohesive response, Cressida moved.

The fiancée leaned forward in her champagne velvet chair, the sleek satin of her evening gown rustling loudly in the quiet room. Her eyes flicked with lightning speed toward the exposed cut on the cane, registering the failure of her concealment. Almost instantly, her gaze snapped back to Dante. She masterfully plastered a faint, reassuring half-smile across her rosy face, attempting to project calm authority.

"Mara must have damaged it," Cressida stated. Her voice was smooth, projecting a practiced, elegant sorrow that masked the venom beneath. "I had it inspected just this afternoon by the craftsman himself. She is always so incredibly clumsy with her duties."

After delivering the lie, Cressida turned her head slightly. She shot Mara a sharp, terrifying warning glance—a look that silently promised unimaginable violence and retribution if the maid dared to contradict her in front of the entire mafia commission.

"Do you truly believe a housemaid possesses the strength to accidentally snap a solid oak shaft, Cressida?" Dante asked. His voice remained deep and unhurried, yet it carried a cold, calculated edge that made the surrounding guests physically flinch. "Are you suggesting she sawed through the wood while carrying it from the side table?"

"People drop things, darling," Cressida insisted, maintaining her elegant composure, though her manicured fingers gripped the edge of the carved walnut table so tightly her knuckles turned white. "The marble floors are unforgiving. She likely dropped it in the hallway and is too frightened to admit her incompetence. We will simply have another one commissioned for you tomorrow."

"Why would she hesitate to hand it to me if it were a mere accident?" Dante inquired, his observant eyes never leaving Mara’s face. He ignored his fiancée completely now, focusing the entirety of his intimidating presence on the young woman beside his chair.

Mara swallowed hard, her throat painfully dry. She could feel the murderous intent radiating from Cressida, but as she looked down into Dante’s eyes, she saw only quiet trust and a demand for the truth. She knew the danger she was in, but her mutual affection for the man sitting before her overrode her vulnerability.