Chapter 3
The sound of the impact was a dull, sickening thud that echoed through the silent gallery.
Gareth’s eyes bulged in shock. All the air left his lungs in a violent rush. He doubled over instantly, choking on a breath he couldn't catch. He stumbled backward, his polished shoes slipping on the plush carpet.
He crashed violently against the rolling stage dolly positioned near the performance riser. The heavy dolly lurched sideways, sending a stack of foam scenery cubes tumbling across the floor in a cascade of silent, chaotic movement.
Both bodyguards reacted instantly to the threat against their employer. They released Cormac’s arms, rushing forward to steady Gareth before he collapsed entirely onto the floor.
The sixty watching guests remained absolutely silent. Dozens of people were frozen beside the crowded tables, unable to process the fact that a housemaid in a white apron had just struck a high-ranking syndicate member in front of the entire family. There was no second collision, no follow-up strike.
Iona did not look at the gasping man she had just punched. She immediately turned back to Cormac.
She reached out, gently hooking her hands under his arms to help him stand to his full height. Her fingers trembled violently around his elbow as she brushed off the lapels of his suit. She kept her expressive eyes locked on his face, fiercely worried that the bodyguards had injured his shoulders.
"Are you hurt?" Iona breathed, her hands hovering over the dark fabric of his vest.
"You are shaking, Iona," Cormac replied, his deep voice carrying a terrifyingly gentle cadence. He lifted his tattooed hand, steadying her trembling fingers with his own.
"I'm fine," she lied quickly, trying to suppress the adrenaline crashing through her system.
Cormac looked over her shoulder, past the foam cubes and the gasping Gareth. His sharp eyes narrowed into lethal slits.
Behind them, across the bright expanse of the gallery, the heavy mahogany door of his private study was quietly, slowly closing from the inside.
Iona had left it wide open when she ran to help him. There was no breeze in the mansion strong enough to move solid wood.
Someone was inside the sanctuary.
Cormac’s jaw tightened. The physical assault by Gareth had been a distraction, a loud, violent piece of theater designed to draw every eye in the room away from the real objective.
Cormac kept one hand securely over Iona's trembling fingers, drawing her slightly closer to his side. He looked directly at his cousin, who was finally regaining his breath, leaning heavily against his white bodyguard.
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"Who did you send into my study, Gareth?" Cormac asked, his voice quiet, dropping into a dangerous register that promised absolute devastation.
Gareth’s eyes darted involuntarily toward the closed mahogany door before snapping back to Cormac. That single, fleeting glance was a confession signed in blood.
