Chapter 7
The doors clicked shut, plunging the grand hall back into a profound, ringing quiet. The tall candles flickered inside their crystal hurricane holders, casting warm, golden light over the untouched, extravagant banquet.
Vincent stood silently for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The betrayal was absolute, the upcoming syndicate war with Daphne's father inevitable, but the immediate, rotting sickness within his home had been surgically removed.
He turned his attention away from the doors and looked back at the two people who mattered most.
Bea was kneeling on the thick patterned rug, holding Howard’s trembling hand in hers. The sophisticated black maid dress contrasted sharply with the older man’s formal dinner jacket. Bea was gently massaging his hand, her softly oval face etched with deep, maternal concern. Howard looked completely exhausted, the emotional toll of the evening compounding his physical frailty.
Vincent walked toward them, the heavy tread of his polished leather shoes muffled by the luxurious rug. He stopped beside them, dropping smoothly to one knee. His imposing, masculine frame cast a protective shadow over the housemaid and his father.
"Are you unharmed, Father?" Vincent asked, his deep voice softening significantly, losing its lethal, interrogative edge.
Howard looked at his son, his eyes searching for reassurance. "I am sorry, Vincent. I didn't want to ruin your alliance. I should have just kept quiet."
"Would suffering in silence to protect an alliance ever be considered an act of loyalty to this family?" Vincent asked, reaching out to gently clasp his father’s shoulder.
Howard sniffled, a small, fragile smile finally breaking through his distress. "No. I suppose not."
"Are you a proud man?" Vincent asked, his thumb brushing against his father's jacket.
"I try to be," Howard nodded.
Vincent shifted his gaze to Bea. The beautiful housemaid was watching him, her expressive brows drawn together in quiet empathy. She had risked her job, her safety, and her life by standing with Howard against the fiancée of a mafia boss. The loyalty she had displayed was a rare, precious commodity in Vincent's dark, violent world.
"Are you injured, Bea?" Vincent asked, his cold, perceptive eyes scanning her delicate features.
"No, Mr. Caldwell," Bea answered softly, her elegant posture unwavering even as she knelt on the floor. "I am perfectly fine."
"Will you take my father up to his suite and stay with him until his medication is delivered?" Vincent asked, his tone conveying a deep, unspoken gratitude.
"Of course, sir," Bea nodded, gently helping the older man to his feet.
"Will you come to my study once he is settled?" Vincent asked, holding her gaze with an intensity that sent a sudden, warm flutter through Bea’s chest.
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"Yes, Mr. Caldwell," Bea replied, her rosy cheeks flushing slightly.
Vincent stood up, offering his arm to his father. Together, the three of them walked out of the luminous dining room, leaving the shattered engagement behind them in the bright, airy light.
