Chapter 4
Rafael paused, listening to his unseen underboss on the other end of the encrypted line. His angular face remained an unreadable mask of stoic authority.
"Will you bring two men into the dining room immediately?" Rafael asked quietly, before sliding the phone back into his suit pocket.
Cassandra’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror. She knew exactly what Marcus did for the Whitlock family. He was the man who made Rafael’s problems disappear into the icy depths of the river.
"No! Rafael, please!" Cassandra shrieked, kicking off her expensive heels and scrambling backward across the hardwood floor. "You can't do this! I am a Vane! My father will kill you! He will slaughter your entire syndicate for this!"
The heavy mahogany double doors of the dining room swung open violently. Marcus, a towering man with a heavily scarred face and a dark trench coat, stepped into the room, flanked by two equally intimidating enforcers. They moved with absolute, silent precision, ignoring the lavish surroundings and focusing entirely on their boss.
"Will you escort my former fiancée to the holding cells in the sub-basement?" Rafael asked, not taking his eyes off the weeping woman backed against the carved marble fireplace.
The two enforcers reached out, grabbing Cassandra by the arms. They hauled her to her feet with effortless strength, the delicate fabric of her sculpted satin gown tearing audibly at the seams.
"Get your hands off me!" Cassandra thrashed wildly, her diamond earrings swinging like violent pendulums. "I loved you, Rafael! You owe me! I saved you from a weak, pathetic child!"
"Will you ensure she is gagged if she continues to scream, Marcus?" Rafael inquired, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
Marcus nodded grimly. "Yes, boss. Let's go, princess."
The enforcers dragged Cassandra backward toward the doors. Her threats devolved into hysterical, panicked sobs that echoed down the grand hallway until the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, sealing the dining room in a profound, suffocating silence once more.
Rafael stood perfectly still for a long moment. The tension slowly bled out of his powerful shoulders. He dropped to one knee on the polished hardwood floor, completely ignoring the crease it put in his expensive trousers, bringing himself down to his daughter's eye level.
"Are you harmed anywhere else, June?" Rafael asked, his deep voice softening just a fraction, losing the lethal edge it had carried moments before. He gently brushed a stray tear from the girl's pale cheek.
"I'm okay, Papa," June whispered, throwing her small arms around Rafael’s neck. "I just didn't want to be bad anymore. I didn't mean to make Mommy go away."
"Would I ever blame you for the greatest gift your mother ever gave me?" Rafael asked, burying his face in his daughter's hair, holding the girl in a fierce, bone-crushing embrace. He closed his eyes, fighting back the wave of agonizing guilt that threatened to drown him. How had he let that monster into his home?
Rafael stood up slowly, lifting June effortlessly into his arms, holding the girl securely against his chest. He turned his head, his thick, slightly wavy hair catching the light of the crystal chandeliers, and looked across the room to where Freya was still standing.
Freya was shaking. Her sophisticated black maid dress felt incredibly thin in the aftermath of the violence. She had just witnessed the destruction of a massive mafia alliance, all because she had stood up for a traumatized child who finally found her voice. She looked at the mafia boss, terrified of the impending war that was surely about to consume the estate.
"Are you injured, Freya?" Rafael asked quietly, his perceptive eyes searching her delicately featured face.
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"I am unharmed, sir," Freya answered, her voice trembling as she kept her hands folded over her neatly tied white apron. "But... I know what just happened. I know the Vane family will come for you because we spoke."
"Do you believe I would allow a woman who tortures my blood to remain in my home out of fear of her father?" Rafael asked, a flicker of profound, protective warmth entering his cold eyes as he looked at her.
