Chapter 6
Dante sat perfectly motionless in his velvet dining chair. The heavy family signet ring on his finger caught the candlelight as his hands rested flat against the polished walnut table. He briefly looked toward Mara, his eyes acknowledging her quiet bravery with a look of profound, unspoken trust. She had not let him fall. Her careful, vulnerable gestures had saved him from a permanent, crippling injury.
Then, Dante’s eyes shifted toward Cressida.
His head followed his gaze in a slow, deliberate, and terrifying turn. The muscles in his sharply defined jaw tightened, setting into unyielding granite. The extremely short stubble on his face seemed to bristle with suppressed violence. He held his fiancée in a cold, unwavering, furious stare.
"Did you truly believe you could cripple me in my own home?" Dante asked. His deep, measured voice offered no room for denial, no space for escape.
Cressida’s face drained of all color, her fair, rosy skin turning a sickly shade of ash. Her elegant satin gown suddenly seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. She looked at the faces of the men surrounding the tables—men who were fiercely loyal to the man sitting at the head of the table.
"Dante, please," Cressida stammered, her voice trembling wildly. "The boy misunderstood! He is just a child! He heard me talking about a television program! I would never hurt you! I love you!"
"Do you think my son is a liar?" Dante inquired, his voice remaining quiet, yet carrying the force of a physical blow. "Do you believe I am foolish enough to mistake a saw blade for an accident?"
"It was the maid!" Cressida shrieked, pointing a desperate, shaking finger at Mara. "She is in love with you! She wants me out of the way! She staged this whole thing with the boy to ruin me!"
"Would a maid orchestrate a coup to seize control of my syndicate?" Dante asked, leaning forward slightly, the golden highlights of the room catching the predatory gleam in his eyes. "Would a maid benefit from keeping me confined to a wheelchair, or would a fiancée who was recently granted power of attorney over my estates?"
Cressida gasped, stumbling backward until her spine hit the edge of a gilded mirror on the wall. She had no defense left. The sheer logic of his questions dismantled her entire conspiracy in front of the entire commission.
"Do you know the penalty for treason within this family, Cressida?" Dante asked softly, the silence stretching agonizingly through the final frame of the confrontation.
He didn't wait for her to respond. Dante slowly raised his right hand, two fingers extended. It was a silent, absolute command.
Instantly, four heavily armed enforcers stepped out from the shadows of the dining hall doors. They moved with terrifying synchronicity, their polished leather shoes clicking sharply against the cream marble floors. They bypassed the stunned dinner guests and marched directly toward the trembling woman in the elegant satin evening gown.
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"No! Dante, please! You can't!" Cressida screamed as two of the men grabbed her arms, effortlessly lifting her off her feet.
"Why shouldn't I?" Dante asked, his cold stare never wavering as they dragged her toward the exit.
