Chapter 4
The heavy doors clicked shut, plunging the vast, luminous dining hall into a profound, ringing silence. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned gold-rimmed porcelain and half-empty crystal wine glasses. The opulent space, designed for a solemn memorial, now felt like a gilded interrogation chamber.
Bridget backed away from the head table, her heels clicking unsteadily against the polished floor. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a defensive posture that crushed the sculpted satin of her expensive gown. Her diamond earrings shook as she wept, her carefully constructed facade entirely destroyed.
"Dominic, you cannot believe this is real," Bridget sobbed, her chest heaving. "My family arranged this marriage! We are supposed to unite our syndicates! Are you going to throw all of that away because of a misunderstanding and a lying maid?"
Dominic stood immovably in his tailored dark three-piece suit. He slowly crouched down, bringing his handsome, angular face level with his son’s.
"Can you tell me exactly what you heard the night your grandfather passed away, Lewis?" Dominic asked gently, his deep voice softening significantly to comfort the boy.
Lewis sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his small hand. He looked at Etta, who gave him an encouraging, tearful nod, before looking back into his father's cold, but loving, eyes.
"I was thirsty, so I went to the kitchen," Lewis explained, his voice trembling but remarkably clear. "I saw Bridget put drops in Grandpa's tea. I asked her what she was doing. She smiled and told me it was special medicine so Grandpa wouldn't wake up anymore. She said he was tired and needed to rest forever."
Bridget let out a blood-curdling scream of denial. "He is lying! The maid told him to say that! She is trying to frame me for it!"
Dominic rose slowly to his full height. He turned his broad, powerful shoulders toward his fiancée. The extremely short stubble on his jawline seemed to bristle with barely contained violence.
"Would Etta risk her life in this room to manufacture such a claim?" Dominic asked.
"Yes!" Bridget shrieked, pointing viciously at the housemaid. "Look at her! She thinks she's better than me just because she plays the innocent victim!"
Dominic didn't look at Etta. He kept his perceptive eyes locked entirely on Bridget, dissecting her panic, reading the absolute guilt written plainly across her flushed, rosy skin. He had survived in the criminal underworld by being an unparalleled judge of human character. He knew when someone was lying to him, and he knew the awful, crushing weight of the truth.
"Are you capable of telling the truth, Bridget, or must I extract it from you?" Dominic asked, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her.
"I love you, Dominic!" she wept, falling to her knees on the luxurious rug, the sculpted satin of her gown pooling around her. She clasped her hands together in a begging gesture. "Please, darling! My father forced me to do it! He said your father was standing in the way of the merger! He wouldn't step down! I didn't want to hurt him!"
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"Did you believe that murdering the head of this family would secure your place at the top of this empire?" Dominic asked.
His voice dropped to a terrifying, gravelly whisper. It was a sound that had preceded the end of many men's lives. Bridget stared up at his movie-star handsome face, realizing with absolute, horrifying clarity that there was no escape. The mafia boss had heard enough, and the consequences would be paid in blood.
