Gemma Brooks set down the small dessert plate, only for six-year-old Owen to push his glass of milk away with quiet dread

The crackling of the carved marble fireplace grew louder in the vast, empty dining room. Valerie backed her chair away from the table, the legs screeching against the polished floor. She stood up, her champagne satin gown pooling around her ankles, looking like a cornered animal wrapped in luxury.

“Poisoning? You are being completely irrational!” Valerie cried out, her chest heaving. “It was harmless! Every mother uses a little something to calm a hyperactive child! You are never around to deal with his tantrums, Wesley! Someone had to manage him!”

Wesley continued his slow, measured approach. His polished leather shoes made no sound, giving him the aura of a phantom stalking its prey. He stopped a few feet away from her, his high-bridged nose and angular face looking like they were carved from stone.

“Is blaming your victim the best defense you can muster?” Wesley asked, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.

“I am not on trial here!” Valerie screamed, tears of sheer panic finally spilling over her cheeks. She pointed a manicured finger at Gemma. “She is a servant! You are taking the word of a maid over your future wife? My family brought you the southern shipping routes! We built an empire together!”

Gemma pulled Owen a step back, trying to shield the boy from the shrill, violent desperation in Valerie’s voice. Owen buried his face against Gemma's side, his small hands clutching the white fabric of her apron in absolute terror.

“Do you believe your father’s shipping routes can buy your way out of this room?” Wesley asked.

Valerie gasped, her hand flying to her throat. The diamond necklace she wore suddenly looked like a glittering noose. “If you touch me, my father will burn this city to the ground. The alliance will be broken! You will start a war, Wesley! Over a glass of milk?”

“Do you think a war frightens me more than a threat to my son?” Wesley inquired, tilting his head slightly, the small neck tattoo shifting against his collar.

“You need me!” Valerie sobbed, completely breaking down as she realized the absolute lack of mercy in his cold, observant eyes. “I did it for us! So we could be happy! So we could entertain your capos without him ruining everything!”

“Is my son a burden to you, Valerie?” Wesley asked, his tone dropping to an icy whisper that chilled the room far more than the winter air outside.

“He is a child!” she shrieked hysterically. “He doesn't belong at these dinners! He belongs out of sight!”

Wesley stared at her in complete silence for a long moment. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored dark suit, his refined hand tattoos catching the golden light, and withdrew a heavy, encrypted mobile phone. He didn't look at the screen as he pressed a single button, raising it to his ear.

“Are you waiting in the foyer, Marcus?” Wesley asked into the receiver. He paused, listening to his underboss. “Will you bring two men into the dining room immediately?”

Valerie let out a shattered, guttural sob, dropping to her knees on the hardwood floor. The champagne satin gown crushed beneath her weight. She knew exactly what Marcus did for the Blackwood family.