Chapter 5
The silence in the grand dining room was a physical, suffocating pressure. The tall ivory candles flickering among the evergreen garlands seemed to be the only things moving in the entire, luminous space. The clear, cinematic lighting left absolutely no shadows for the cruelty to hide within.
Iris stood paralyzed beside the serving trolley, the heavy metal cuff biting into her bruised skin. She looked directly at Elliot, her chest heaving rapidly beneath the fitted black fabric of her dress. She knew the extreme danger of answering that question. She knew the power of the Cross family, and she knew Leona’s capacity for vindictive, sadistic violence.
But looking into Elliot’s dark, commanding eyes, feeling the absolute, terrifying demand for the truth radiating from his masculine frame, Iris found she had no choice. The presence of the mafia boss stripped away her ability to lie.
She took a shallow, shuddering breath. Her voice was incredibly quiet, carrying a slight, unavoidable tremor that betrayed her exhaustion and terror.
"Leona," Iris answered, her American accent fragile but devastatingly clear in the silent room. "Owen hugged me."
A collective, quiet gasp rippled through the elite guests. The sheer, petty malice of the motive was shocking even to seasoned syndicate members. To chain a human being to a cart out of jealousy over a child's innocent embrace was an act of monstrous, insecure cruelty.
Leona’s face drained of all color. The fair, rosy skin turned a sickly, translucent white beneath her burgundy velvet gown. She opened her mouth to speak, to scream a denial, to call the maid a liar, but her vocal cords were paralyzed by the sheer, overwhelming terror radiating from the man sitting beside her.
Elliot did not explode. He did not yell. The restraint he showed was infinitely more terrifying than any outburst.
He slowly extended his hand, his artistic, negative-space tattoos stark against the bright light. He looked at his son.
Elliot accepted the ribbon-tied key from Owen’s small fingers.
He rose slowly from his velvet dining chair. The movement was smooth, deliberate, and packed with coiled, lethal energy. His broad shoulders blocked the light from the chandeliers as he stepped directly in front of Iris.
Elliot met Iris’s puffy, exhausted eyes before speaking. His gaze softened for a microscopic fraction of a second, an unspoken promise of protection passing between them.
He reached down, his large, warm hands gently grasping her bruised wrist. He inserted the small silver key into the metal cuff. With a sharp, metallic clack, Elliot turned the key and released the lock.
The heavy cuff popped open. The chain fell away, crashing loudly against the base of the silver serving trolley.
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Iris rubbed her bruised wrist, her tears finally spilling over her lashes.
"Iris," Elliot commanded, his deep voice carrying a measured, absolute authority. "Stay beside me."
