Chapter 5
Marcus, a towering man with a heavily scarred face and a dark trench coat, stepped into the room, flanked by two equally intimidating enforcers. They moved with absolute, silent precision, ignoring the lavish surroundings of crystal and ivory, focusing entirely on their boss.
"Will you escort my former fiancée to the holding cells in the sub-basement?" Quentin asked, not taking his eyes off the weeping woman backed against the carved marble fireplace.
"No! Please!" Bianca shrieked, kicking and thrashing wildly as the two enforcers reached out and grabbed her by the arms. They hauled her to her feet with effortless strength, the delicate fabric of her sculpted satin gown tearing audibly at the seams. "My father will slaughter your entire family for this!"
"Will you ensure she is gagged if she continues to scream, Marcus?" Quentin inquired, casually adjusting the cuff of his dark suit.
Marcus nodded grimly. "Yes, boss. Let's go, princess."
The enforcers dragged Bianca backward toward the doors. Her threats devolved into hysterical, panicked sobs that echoed down the grand hallway until the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, sealing the dining room in a profound, suffocating silence once more.
Quentin stood perfectly still for a long moment. The tension slowly bled out of his powerful shoulders. He turned his head, his thick, slightly wavy hair catching the light of the chandeliers, and looked across the room to where Holly was standing.
Holly was shaking. Her sophisticated black maid dress felt incredibly thin in the aftermath of the violence. She had just witnessed the destruction of a massive mafia alliance, all because she had brought a pair of sewing scissors to the dinner table. She looked at the mafia boss, terrified of the impending war that was surely about to consume the estate.
Quentin walked slowly back to the table. He dropped to one knee on the polished hardwood floor, completely ignoring the crease it put in his expensive trousers, bringing himself down to his son's eye level.
"Are you harmed anywhere else, Finn?" Quentin asked, his deep voice softening just a fraction, losing the lethal edge it had carried moments before. He gently reached out, taking Finn's small, red wrists into his large, tattooed hands, examining the chafed skin with profound sorrow.
"No, Papa," Finn whispered, his lower lip trembling as he looked into his father's eyes. "I'm sorry I spilled the water. I didn't mean to."
"Would I ever punish you for a simple accident?" Quentin asked, his chest tightening with an agonizing guilt. He looked at his son, realizing how deeply the woman had poisoned the boy's perception of him. "How could I ever hate my own son?"
Finn let out a small, broken sob and threw his arms around Quentin’s neck. Quentin caught him, pulling the boy tightly against his broad shoulders. He buried his face in his son's hair, holding him in a fierce, bone-crushing embrace. He closed his eyes, fighting back the murderous rage that threatened to consume him.
Quentin stood up slowly, lifting Finn effortlessly into his arms, holding the boy securely against his chest. He turned his attention back to Holly.
"Are you injured, Holly?" Quentin asked quietly, his perceptive eyes searching her delicately featured face.
"I am unharmed, sir," Holly answered, her voice trembling as she kept her hands folded over her neatly tied white apron. "But... I know what just happened. I know the Ashford family will come for you because we spoke."
"Do you believe I would allow a woman who tortures my blood to remain in my home out of fear of her father?" Quentin asked, a flicker of profound, protective warmth entering his cold eyes as he looked at her.
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"I didn't know what to expect, Mr. Vale," Holly whispered, her expressive brows drawing together. "I just knew he was suffering. I couldn't let it continue."
"Did you think a monster would punish the only person with the courage to save his son?" Quentin asked gently.
