Chapter 2
The heavy silence in the luminous dining hall stretched into a suffocating eternity. The warm golden light reflecting off the gilded mirrors seemed to freeze under Damon’s unyielding stare. The elite guests, accustomed to the brutal reality hidden beneath the mafia boss’s tailored suits, held their breath. No one dared to move a muscle.
Damon’s heavily tattooed hand remained gently resting over Naomi’s trembling fingers on the polished walnut table. He did not break eye contact with Sabine, his deep, measured voice vibrating with a terrifying, contained fury.
“Do you believe this private degradation is a spectacle for your entertainment?” Damon asked, his words directed not at Sabine, but at the crowded room of guests.
The question hung in the bright, airy space for only a fraction of a second before the guests scrambled to obey the unspoken command. Velvet dining chairs scraped frantically against the cream marble floors. Men and women with fair, rosy skin paled in terror as they abandoned their half-eaten meals on porcelain plates, rushing toward the towering double doors. Within moments, the expansive dining room was entirely empty, leaving only the three figures at the head table bathed in the clean, clear lighting.
Sabine’s champagne satin gown rustled as she shifted uncomfortably. “Damon, darling, you’re overreacting. She is just a housemaid. Why are you causing a scene over a piece of cheap gold?”
“Did you truly believe you could desecrate a grave in my home and demand my silence?” Damon asked, his tone dropping an octave.
“It was morbid!” Sabine shot back, her defensive anger flaring. “She wore it every day! It is completely inappropriate for a servant to carry human remains while serving food to our guests! I was doing this household a favor!”
Naomi let out a quiet, heartbroken sob. She tried to pull her hand away from the table, wanting nothing more than to retreat to the shadows of the mansion, but Damon’s grip held her gently in place.
“Do you think I am blind to the cruelty masquerading as your false etiquette?” Damon asked, leaning slightly forward, casting a shadow over Sabine’s diamond earrings.
“I am your fiancée!” Sabine shrieked, her American accent losing its refined polish. “You are humiliating me in front of our families over a grieving girl! She was trying to make you feel sorry for her! She uses that dead child to get your attention!”
“Is your insecurity so profound that you feel threatened by the memory of a dead boy?” Damon asked, his eyes narrowing into cold slits.
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“I demand respect!” Sabine cried, slamming her hand onto the table.
“Have you ever considered that respect is earned through basic human decency, rather than a champagne satin dress?” Damon asked, his broad shoulders squaring as he looked down at the woman he was supposed to marry.
