Chapter 10
The final pieces of the deadly puzzle hovered in the bright, airy atmosphere of the grand ballroom. The luminous, elegant warmth of the space felt like a beautifully decorated stage set for a highly anticipated execution.
Adrian remained standing perfectly still, positioned exactly between his weeping, panicked fiancée and the elderly baker who had saved his life as a child. He kept his large, tattooed hand resting comfortingly on the back of Agnes’s velvet chair, grounding the trembling old woman.
The hundreds of elite, white American guests held their collective breath, their eyes darting between the deeply masculine Mafia boss and the sophisticated, beautiful housemaid. The bodyguards stood at attention, waiting for the inevitable order to drag the traitorous bride out of the room.
Adrian’s cold, penetrating eyes locked onto Ivy. The soft, refined beauty of her face—her softly defined cheekbones and full natural lips—masked a mind sharper than a scalpel. She had brought Agnes here not just for protection, but for justice. She had bypassed his security because she knew the threat was coming from inside the house.
"You recognized the arsonist," Adrian stated, his deep voice measured and deliberate. It wasn't a question.
"I did," Ivy confirmed, her voice strained but unyielding.
Estelle backed away, her hands clutching her diamond necklace as if it could shield her from the impending wrath. "Adrian, please! Don't do this! I am the mother of your future children! We are getting married next month!"
Adrian did not look at her. He completely ignored the pathetic, desperate pleas of the woman who had tried to murder his surrogate mother. His entire focus was entirely on Ivy.
The silence stretched, pulling the tension to a razor-thin, agonizing edge.
Adrian slowly turned his head, his sharp jawline tightening. He looked directly into Ivy's expressive almond eyes. He needed the name. He needed the target so he could unleash his men into the city and tear the arsonist apart piece by piece.
"Ivy," Adrian asked, his voice dropping into a cold, measured, and terrifyingly lethal emphasis.
The entire ballroom seemed to freeze in time.
"Who lit the match?" Adrian demanded.
Behind him, Estelle’s trembling fingers tightened violently around her expensive evening clutch. Her knuckles turned stark white under the luminous lighting, her breath catching in a panicked, audible gasp.
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Ivy stood tall in her elegant black maid dress. She looked at the terrified bride, then down at the soot-stained, weeping old woman, and finally back to the cold, waiting eyes of the Mafia boss.
Ivy parted her full lips, drawing a slow, deep breath, ready to speak the name that would bathe the city in blood.
