Chapter 2
The laughter from the older relatives continued, a harsh, jagged sound in the brightly lit ballroom. Lachlan remained on the marble floor, his dark eyes locked on the beautiful housemaid who had thrown herself into the center of a mafia power struggle simply to check if he was bruised. Annalise’s hands were incredibly gentle against the rough, tailored fabric of his suit jacket.
Clive was not finished. He took another step forward, gesturing grandly for the benefit of the watching crowd. He pointed down toward the overturned mahogany chair.
Resting on the marble, partially concealed by the shadow of the heavy wooden leg, was a gleaming, diamond-encrusted gold watch. It belonged to the patriarch of the family, a piece worth more than the entire ballroom setup.
“Look what falls from the boss’s pockets when you shake him,” Clive sneered, turning to the gasping guests. “He’s been skimming from the old man for months. Now he’s stealing jewelry right off the tables.”
Lachlan stared at the gold watch. His sharp jaw tightened, the muscles ticking beneath his neat stubble. He knew instantly it was a setup, a clumsy but devastatingly effective piece of theater designed to shatter his credibility on the eve of the family wedding.
He slowly lifted his head, bypassing Clive entirely, and met Annalise’s worried eyes. The vulnerability in his deep, measured voice was something no one in the syndicate had ever heard before.
“I never touched that watch,” Lachlan said, his voice shaken but resolute.
“I know you didn't,” Annalise whispered back fiercely.
Before Lachlan could push himself up, Clive lunged forward. Emboldened by his apparent victory, the older cousin grabbed the crisp collar of Lachlan’s tailored suit and began dragging him roughly upward, intending to physically haul the boss out of the room.
Clive’s two bodyguards—one Black American and one white American—stepped closer, their dark suits and earpieces marking them as the enforcement behind the coup. They stood ready to assist Clive in dragging Lachlan away.
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Annalise watched Clive’s thick fingers twist the fabric of Lachlan’s collar. She saw the flash of pain cross Lachlan’s angular face as his bruised elbow was wrenched awkwardly. The fierce, silent affection she harbored for the mafia boss shattered her ingrained sense of servitude.
Annalise rose to her feet with shocking speed. She planted her flats firmly on the marble floor and drove one forceful, devastating shoulder check directly into Clive’s side.
