Chapter 3
The silence in the grand dining room was a physical, suffocating pressure. The tall candles flickering inside their silver candelabras seemed to be the only things moving. The bright, luminous video colors of the room felt painfully sharp, illuminating the exact moment the lies holding the Crowe empire together began to unravel.
Alistair’s expression remained an unreadable mask of masculine stone. He slowly shifted his stance, moving with a deliberate, predatory grace. He reached down, placing his large, tattooed hand gently and protectively onto Luke’s small shoulder. He shifted his broad shoulders, physically positioning himself between Selene and both the child and June. The tailored fabric of his dark three-piece suit shifted immaculately over his powerful frame as he turned his attention.
Selene held Alistair’s cold gaze, desperately attempting to maintain her composure. She forced a patient, indulgent smile onto her lips, though her fair, rosy skin had turned a sickly shade of white. She let out a soft, musical little laugh that echoed artificially over the clinking of settling silverware.
"We were discussing the charity," Selene stated, her American accent dripping with condescending reassurance.
She looked directly at Alistair, her eyes frantically searching his angular face for a sign of acceptance, begging him to validate the narrative she had just spun for the room. She smoothed the satin of her sculpted evening gown, waiting for him to accept the lie and move on with the fundraising celebration.
Before Alistair could form his next calculated question, a small voice broke the tableau.
Luke, still standing rigidly in his formal dinner jacket, slowly turned his head. The little boy’s fair cheeks were pale, and his small shoulders were drawn inward defensively. He looked directly at Selene. The six-year-old’s brow furrowed in genuine, innocent confusion, deeply puzzled by her explanation. His small fingers remained curled tightly around the fabric of his father’s sleeve.
"You said me," Luke said, his voice quiet but devastatingly clear as he tried to understand the contradiction. "After dinner."
The words hit the room with the force of a detonating bomb.
Alistair froze. His entire body went rigid, the breath catching in his chest. His eyes lingered on Luke for a brief, agonizing moment as the six-year-old’s words shattered the foundation of his reality. He processed the boy’s innocent translation of the threat. The engagement dinner was not a celebration; it was a countdown.
May you like
Slowly, terrifyingly, Alistair’s eyes shifted. His head followed slightly, tracking across the white damask tablecloth until his gaze landed squarely on Selene.
His sharply defined jaw tightened until the bone threatened to snap. His mouth settled into a firm, unforgiving line. Keeping his heavy, protective hand firmly on his son’s shoulder, he fixed Selene with a cold, unwavering stare. He held her gaze in complete, absolute silence. The mafia boss said nothing, his perceptive eyes stripping away her diamonds, her satin gown, and her lies, exposing the murderer trembling beneath. Every guest in the room remained completely paralyzed, watching the executioner render his silent verdict.
